


Bitch of Wounds

by Simplydesires



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, As always Jon is riddled with guilt and shame, Buckle in folks this is going to be a long one, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sansa has trust and intimacy issues, Slow Burn, post 6x10, show canon, the season seven rewrite with accurate time-travel that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplydesires/pseuds/Simplydesires
Summary: New Chapter: Jon learns the truth of what Rhaegar did, and why, from one of the few people alive left to know: Ashara Dayne, handmaid to Princess Elia and sister to Arthur Dayne, the Prince’s best friend.Summary: A two-front war looms with Dragons in the South and the Undead in the North, while Baelish seeks to divide the weak alliance between Sansa and Jon in Winterfell. Sansa works to keep Jon safe from Baelish's schemes and Jon secretly wrestles with a revelation that changes everything.Note: The title is a hat tip to GRR Martin's love of kennings and metaphors for titles. 'Bitch of Wounds' refers to a She-wolf.





	1. The Crypts — Sansa

I struggled to cut the wildling clothes off what remained of Rickon’s body. Normally preparing a body for burial was a job for a Maester, but Jon had ordered the Bolton maester to be put in the kennels with the rest of Bolton men that surrendered. 

Not that it changed anything. My baby brother was a sack of flesh with half a face whose body needed to be prepared for burial and there was no one else to do it but me and a wildling healer named Igna. 

Jon told me how Rickon died after the battle. He tried to hide behind his solemn mask but the shame in his eyes and the contempt in his voice betrayed him, “I couldn’t ride fast enough. Ramsey’s arrow got him before I could.” 

He looked away from me and didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to. Honor demanded he blame himself for failing his duty. But admitting his honor nearly cost us Winterfell was not a truth he could admit to me—or maybe even to himself. 

An arrow through the heart did not stop Rickon’s remains from being smashed by a stampede of men. And a horse, if the indent in his skull was an indication. 

Even though I knew he was dead, I was still startled by the queer coldness of his skin as I pulled his furs off him. Warmth, I briefly forgot, was for the living. When I rolled his body over to pull the last of the ruined clothing away, I heard the last breath in his lungs rattle his body. 

I nearly dropped his body in fright. 

_Sansa, hold it fucking together. Rickon is gone. He won’t be rising from the dead—not like Jon_. My heart clenched at the thought. _Why was Jon chosen? Is that the price of cheating Death? Trade one life for another?_

I huffed silently at the thought. _If only Death were that just_. I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders and pushed on. 

Igna, the wilding healer who I had asked to help me dress Rickon’s body for burial, moved forward holding large pliers in her hand. 

She pulled the arrows from his chest, as I washed his body with my best-scented oil. 

It felt surreal to look at his naked crushed frame, yellow skin already smelling of rot. This body once was the home of my brother. Now he is gone and this mess of flesh is all that is left.

_He looks like how I feel._

_My body no longer feels like home anymore either. Does that mean I am rotting too? Maybe I am one of the walking dead. Why else would my heart be ice?_

Working together we dressed him in one of Robb’s old court costumes that I had found in one of the family trunks. We covered his caved-in skull with a cloth.

Dressed in Robb’s clothes, Rickon’s face, seen from the side, with its blue eye and auburn curls and full cheek, looked like Robb had at ten. 

“They could have been twins.”

_If not twins in life, they were twins in death—victims of a Bolton’s trap._

“Who could my lady?” Igna asks. 

“It doesn’t matter. Thank you, Igna. I need to change before the burial,” I said as rushed out of the crypts before my guilt engulfed me. 

>>>>> <<<<<

I stood at the door watching him stare at a map of Winterfell. His shoulders were slumped by the weight of trying to divine a way to protect us against the army to come. 

_Oh, Jon. You don't need to bare this burden alone._

I knocked on the ajar door to announce my presence, before calling out, “Jon, it’s time.”

He turned to me and searched my face before nodding his head in agreement. 

_What had he been looking for? Shame? Smugness?_

I turned on my heel and the lead way. I straightened my spine as I imagined his eyes boring into my back. 

He is right to think me heartless. I feel guilt for surviving while Rickon died, but not enough as I should. It is easier that way—if he holds me in contempt. This way he gets to keep his honor. Mine is of no consequence—a ruined woman’s honor never is.

 _I could only save us, Jon, or no one at all. Let that be enough. It has to be enough._

>>>>> <<<<<

The stone mason came to lay Rickon’s body to in the crypt next to where our mother, brother and father’s bones will one day lie. We had already commissioned their statues. But they would not be done for months—if they get done at all before the war comes. 

“He was barely six years old, the last time we saw him, Jon. He was just a boy. ”

“Aye.”

“I remember a petulant child, who did not like to go to bed when told, who would pull my hair too hard and would laugh when I would strike his hand away. Later as he grew older he stopped pulling my hair and asked me if he could comb my hair—if he could me my 'hair petter'. And I let him, just for a little bit.”

Jon’s mouth quirked upward at my retelling, “The wildlings called people with hair like yours, ‘kissed by fire’. It means you are lucky.”

My laugh caught me off guard, “If this luck, I don’t want to know a cursed life. Robb, Rickon and mother all had hair 'kissed by fire'—it didn’t protect them.”

“Aye.” His smile disappeared and he looked troubled by the thought but after a moment he spoke again.

“Do you remember that time he tugged so hard on Lady Stark’s skirt that it tore? All because he didn’t want to leave the training yard? Even at six, he was a strong, stubborn lad.”

“He loved watching you and Robb train.”

“Not that it did any good,” Jon spat. 

I opened my mouth and quickly closed it, an aborted rationale on my tongue. _No, there is nothing you, of all people, can say_. As the silence between us grew heavy with shame, the more I felt compelled to speak. If only to allow him to shift blame on me—to free himself of the burden. 

“I am sorry Jon. I am so sorry you couldn’t save him.”

Jon barks a loud bitter laugh that startles me and transgressively echoes in the hall of dead winter kings. 

“But you knew! You knew I would try—that I would risk everything to save our baby brother—everything. You knew I would fall into Ramsey’s trap. That is the real reason why you didn’t tell me about the Knight’s of the Vale. You couldn’t trust me to make the strategic choice over the moral one.”

I blew out a rush of air as his words hit me in the gut. _What can I say to that?_

“That doesn’t mean I think less of you. You are an honorable man—just like father. That is why the men love you and fight for you—because you will risk your life for them. But honor does not protect you against those who will use it against you. Honor is the easiest thing to manipulate in good men. That is why there are no longer good men—the didn't see the knife behind their back.”

“So I am an idiot because I try to live with honor?” Jon said stiffly. 

I nearly growled as Jon misunderstood my point. 

“Damn it, Jon. No! It makes you vulnerable to manipulations you can’t see—much less fight against. Father’s honor is what got him killed. If he had kept secrets better, had not been so transparent in his motives, maybe, just maybe, he would still be alive and there would have been no war.”

Jon’s fur mantle swelled with his anger, making him look uncannily like a wolf with his hackles raised. All that was missing was for him to bare his teeth and snarl. _Littlefinger will find him as easy to handle as clay. How can I even hope to guard Jon against Littlefinger’s traps? Especially when he fell for Ramsey's game?_

“So if father had been a better liar, there would have been no war and you would be married to Prince Joffrey. You would have been Queen if father had been less honorable,” Jon bit out.

I bristled at Jon’s insult. The implication that I only mourned father because his “treason” cost me a crown—hurt more than I thought—especially coming from him. But like any seasoned courtier, I leaned into the insult rather than deny it. 

“Yes, Jon. You are right. I am wanted to be queen. I wanted it more than anything. But that dream turned to dust the day Joffrey made me watch father die. I would abdicate any crown to have a father again.”

I saw Jon’s face slowly soften and shoulders slope as I spoke, "As would I," he whispered. 

I nodded. 

_We are united in that at least. We would rather have our family again than a crown._

“I believed Joffrey's honor when he said he would spare father because I didn’t know then that most people are not honorable—especially rich, powerful people. I was the idiot, Jon, to trust nobility to be noble.”

“But you were not yet a woman grown, how were you to know—” 

“Arya knew. She had better instincts than me about the Lannisters.” 

Jon had no rebuttal to that. I had told him the story of how I had lost Lady when we were campaigning for men. _I was such a stupid, idiot of a girl. Even Jon won’t deny it._

“After father’s execution, I was alone, a stranger in a strange land surrounded by people who wanted to use me for my claim. I had no one. You had your brothers at the Wall to fill the hole left by our family. All I had were Cersei, Petyr and Tyrion whispering in my ear. I was a hostage in a gilded cage. I had no power, influence or sword to protect me. Courtesy and knowledge of my enemies kept me alive. 

I turned to face Jon and took a step closer to him. He stood his ground and met my gaze. 

“Forgive me, Jon, if you felt I was asking you to abandon your honor. I am not. All I am asking is that you let me help you not get yourself killed. Honor be damned, Jon. It is not worth dying for. It is better to live to fight another day. ”

I looked away as I felt a tear threaten to spill down my cheek. 

“Sansa. My honor is all I have.”

My chest clenched and I heaved a sigh. 

_Of course. What did you expect from him? He will abandon me on the shores of honor, just like father. You can’t trust him to win this fight either. He has no idea how this game is played or how vulnerable his Kingship makes to him to Baelish. He won’t allow himself be sullied by what it takes to remain in power—to keep you safe—to keep Winterfell._

I met his gaze and willed my voice not to betray me. “And what of me? You are all I have Jon.”

“I will not get myself killed. I will not leave you, ever.” 

“You know as well as I do you can’t promise that. No one can. Promise to trust my counsel, especially regarding people and games I know better than you.”

“Aye. All right. I will not do anything without discussing it with you first,” Jon jokes. 

“You mock. But that is vow I will hold you to,” I said, a tad too primly. 

“I would not expect anything less,” Jon said solemnly. 

Another silence descended between us as we gazed at Rickon’s crypt. 

“We can give Rickon’s body a place to rest,” I sighed. “But we do not have father’s bones, mother’s or Robb’s for that matter. How can we give them a final resting place without them?”

“There is nothing after this life, Sansa. Nothing to disturb their rest. Our statues will ensure they are not forgotten, no matter where their bones lie.”

I turned from Rickon’s crypt and looked into the vacant stone eyes of Lyanna, begging the stone woman to give me a better answer. 

“You truly believe this is it?”

“I know it.”

After a long silence, I couldn’t help but sigh, “Well, that is disappointing.”

“Aye,” Jon laughed humorlessly. “And it is only going to get worse. Winter has come.”

I turned to meet Jon’s eyes, “Then why do we still fight, Jon? If there is truly nothing after this and if the dead are coming, why not slit our wrists and be done with it all.”

A small smile picked up the corner of his lips, his eyes looking past the stone woman seeming to recall another memory before he spoke. 

“A wildling once told me, ‘If we die we die, but first we live.’”

“You fight to live then. Live for what? What is there left to live for?”

He opened his mouth to speak, looked at me for a long lingering moment with a softness in his eyes that I had not seen before. But before he let himself speak, he thought better of it and shook his head and looked away from me. 

After another moment of thought, he finally spoke, “After the Red Woman brought me back, I had no reason to live. I thought I found reason in retaking Winterfell, but after Rickon fell—when I realized that I failed him and all my men—I wanted to die and be gone forever. 

He takes a deep breath and continues. 

"Then we were surrounded. Trapped. The men started to retreat and I got knocked down under them. I was being buried alive. 

"But instead of dying, even though I knew the battle lost, I climbed the men's limbs until I reached air— and the first thing I heard was horns. When the Knights of the Vale charged, I knew there was hope, and that I couldn't stop, not now, not yet. 

"Those horns woke me up to the truth that I did not want to die. That I had to have hope. Hope that if we survive this war, that we will live to start something anew.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

I gave him a measured look then, similar to the one I gave him when we were first were reunited, weighing his words against my jaded expectations. Instead, I dodged his invite. 

“Who was this wildling that taught you to live?”

I saw blotches of red bloom on his cheeks before he said, “Her name was Ygritte. She...We...I broke my vows with her when I was beyond the Wall spying on Mance Rayder. She was kissed by fire—like you.”

I felt heat creep up my cheeks and I looked away from Jon. 

“Did you love her?”

“Aye. What little good it did her, in the end.”

“What happened?.”

“A brother of the Night’s Watch shot her through the heart during Mance’s attack on Castle Black.” He heaved a sigh that sunk his shoulders.

We stood listening to the silence of the dead. 

“If we die, we die, but first we live,” I repeated. 

“Aye,” he said with a slight smile and a nod. 

>>>>> <<<<<<

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think below.


	2. Bitch of Wounds — Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's self-doubt rears its head. And Baelish needles Jon about Sansa's loyalties.

I found myself in front of Rickon’s tomb, my torch doing little to fend off the encroaching shadows. Guilt had kept me awake—mocking the exhaustion of my battle bruised body. 

“Forgive me. I was not clever enough to save you,” I whispered to Rickon's crypt. 

I felt a breeze brush past my boots and pull my cloak. I turn expecting to see the fleeing shadow of a cat or a rat, but I found nothing. A chill crept up my spine. 

“Who is there?”

The echo of my voice was the only response. 

_Jon, pull yourself together. You know there is nothing to haunt you here. There is nothing after death._

All the same, I turned to leave. 

“You don’t belong here.”

I spun around, “Who is there!?”

There was no one to be found, except Lyanna’s statue. 

I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end and my palms sweat. But my feet were rooted to the ground. I spoke to the statue. 

“I am Ned Stark’s son. I have every right to be here.”

The stone woman slowly turned her head to look at me, blinked and said, “You are not a Stark.”

I tripped on my cloak in my haste to run...

...and fell awake. 

I sat up in bed, a ring of sweat drenching my collar and my heart battering my ribs. 

_Fuck, that felt real. I hadn't had a dream like that since I was at Winterfell last._

I got out of bed. The night’s chill felt refreshing on my heated skin as I walked to the water basin.

I splashed my face with the freezing water in an attempt to wash away the stone woman's words from my mind. But the water did little to wash away my discomfort. 

_You will never be a Stark, Jon. You have no right to be King in the North, but you are King regardless. Gods, help me._

>>>>> <<<<<

I spent the rest of my morning watching the black night turn to a gray morning—waiting until I was summoned to breakfast. My body ached, and I was colder than usual due to the lack of sleep, but I didn't want to close my eyes again and see the woman in the crypt. 

When I finally entered the great hall, I found Sansa dressed in a gray, wool frock with an apron, addressing the what remained of the household. 

_I know that dress. That was Lady Catelyn’s dress._ The sight of it involuntarily put me on edge and filled me with an age-old uneasiness. _Of all the dresses to resurrect, why did she have to choose that one?_ The dress had seen better days, the bottom of the skirt was frayed and almost black with wear. The apron signaled that purpose of its resurrection was purely functional and not sentimental— _I hope._

As a child, Sansa had mirrored her mother in everything, even down to her disregard for me. Since our reunion, Catelyn’s sentiments had not resurfaced, thankfully, but the sight of that dress, made me fear for the state of our tenuous relationship. _Surely, Sansa knew I would be true to her._

“During my previous time at Winterfell, I was not able to properly introduce myself to you all,” began Sansa. 

I huffed mirthlessly at her introduction. _Terror has never been omitted by prettier words._

She continued, “Thank you all for your service in some of the darkest days Winterfell has known. I know since the death of my father Lord Eddard Stark at King's Landing, of my mother Catelyn's and my brother Robb's death at the Red Wedding, and the occupation of this castle by the Ironborn and Bolton forces, that you served and carried on while fearing for your lives. I am in your debt.

"We don’t need a white raven from the Citadel to tell us that Winter is here and that it is here with a vengeance. I do not know what the Winter will bring, but you are safe again. We are safe again as long as we continue to stand together.

“My education as a manager of this household was cut short, so I will rely on your knowledge and guidance to once again make Winterfell a place of warmth and hospitality in the dark Winter night. 

“To survive the Winter to come we will need to be unified. My father used to say that, ‘the lone wolf survives, but the pack survives,’ as such I ask for you all to cry far and wide to your friends and family that the Starks have returned to Winterfell, and that our gate is open to all who have survived the wars. We need every hand and every skill to see us through this long night.

“We are in great need of a blacksmith, hunters, archers—

I nearly flinched, as Littlefinger suddenly whispered in my ear. 

“Her mother would be so proud. Sansa has grown to be more than Lady Catelyn could have dreamed. She is more than a lady, she is regal—strong, kind and wise. Pity, she will never be queen.”

 _—because of me._ He did not have to say it, but I heard it in his voice all the same. While she may sleep in the Lord’s chamber, I was the one crowned. I felt flattened by the sudden realization that Lady Catelyn’s fear was justified. I stole her child’s birthright. _Sansa is right to distrust me. Damn that fucking dress._

I heard the woman's voice from my dream echo. _"You do not belong here."_

“Aye, she would have done.” _She should be Queen in the North and I am a bastard for stealing it from her._

Sansa finished addressing the crowd.

“She might still be. She is a princess now, after all. If you will excuse me, your grace,” said Lord Baelish as he walked away. 

_What does that mean?_

I hummed a noise that resembled a growl in his general direction. _Good riddance._ My relief did not last long as I watched Lord Baelish bold as brass pull Sansa aside and whisper something in her ear. 

What good humor had filled her face, fled at whatever news he gave. She moved out of the hall and Littlefinger followed. 

_No, no, no, you are not allowed to use her for your games anymore._

Before I could even move two feet in her direction, Davos grabbed my arm. “Wait. Let him. He will not harm her. He still thinks she is his to control, and you should not shatter that illusion. You confronting him will do nothing, but provoke him. And we still need his men. Speak with her in private.”

I looked at Davos and nodded, and he let go of my arm. I stalked off to find a sparring partner in the yard instead. 

>>>>> <<<<<

I found Sansa later that afternoon, on the battlements. 

Before I could even ask for what news Littlefinger had shared she spoke. 

“Margaery Tyrell is dead. As well as all of the rest of the court. Cersei is Queen now.” Her eyes were red, but her voice did not betray her grief. 

“I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“Cersei was summoned to a trial by the faith militant in the Sept of Baelor. Instead, she blew up the Sept, court and all, with wildfyre. Margaery was there. Her brother was also on trial. King Tommen jumped out of a tower at the news of her death. Cersei no longer has any legitimate claim to the throne, but she sits on it anyway.”

Sansa had never mentioned Margaery before, but I know that she was engaged to her brother Willas before being married to Tyrion. But that was not the news that concerned me. 

“Winter has come. And while the Lannister army has survived the war, we now have the North—the North has never been taken from the South. And even if their fleet of ships were not destroyed in Blackwater Bay, we now have the fealty of White Harbor and Manderly's fleet. No, the Lannister Army can’t get us here. Not now and maybe not ever.”

“If Tywin were still alive, I would agree. No matter how much Cersei thinks otherwise, she is not Tywin. He was cruel and cunning, but sane. Cersei is cruelty without cunning or sanity. Cersei’s sanity was tied to her children’s well-being and her children are all dead. Now she has nothing left to lose.”

“Except what is left of her army. Even if she were mad enough to send her army to march on Winterfell, that army would get bogged down and harpooned in the swamps of Moat Caitlin. And she does not have a fleet to take it by water. She would be a fool to march on the North during Winter.” 

“Assuming Moat Cailin returns to our hands, yes. But Winter will not be able to protect us from her fury forever.”

I couldn’t help but smile at Sansa’s unintentional optimism.

“So you believe we will survive the Night’s King to fight the Mad Queen?”

“I didn’t say that,” huffed Sansa. “While I believe what you saw at Hardhome, it seems unfathomable—undefeatable. I mean, an army of the undead that can’t be killed? At least Cersei is a threat I understand. She is a threat that can be beaten.”

“They can be beaten. We wouldn’t be here if the First Men failed.”

“Surely, you don’t believe in songs anymore Jon. Or are you the last hero reborn—or would it be resurrected? 

I knew the south had soured Sansa’s sweetness, but I was still blindsided by her bitter bite. Her question, while in her mother’s dress made me snap like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. _She thinks me a fool. Let her. Let her plan her safe war with Cersei. Either way, we both die._

“Fine. What will you have us do? Slit our wrists and be done with it? Fuck me, for trying to find a way to live past the Winter.”

I barely register her face, her mouth gaping like a fish, as I turned to leave. _Fitting for the spawn of a trout._

I only get five paces before she calls out, “Jon. JON! Come, back Jon.”

I stopped. Waiting.

“Jon, that was cruel of me. I am sorry.” 

I turned around but kept my distance. 

“It may have been cruel, but it is true. You speak the truth to me, Sansa, especially when I don’t want to hear it. But my question still stands, what would you have me do?”

“I just wish to fight a war we can win.”

“I guess we are both fools then. Goodnight Sansa.”

When she called my name again, I turned and walked away. 

>>>>> <<<<<<

“Maybe she is right. Maybe we can’t win this war,” I said to Tormund after retelling my fight with Sansa. I left the castle to spend the night in the wildling camp now outside of Winterfell. I stared into Tormund’s fire, trying to see the shadows the Red Woman claimed foretold my fate—our fate. 

“Maybe, but I don’t think she wants us to lose either. She distrusts the hearts of men. Rightly so, from what I have heard. Pretty soft southern lass like that left alone without so much as a knife— aye—I imagine I would trust a man as far as I could throw him if I were her too.”

“She knows she can trust me.”

“Does she now?

I grunted in response, knowing that I had little ground to stand on, and pulled my cloak tighter around myself. Tormund does not call my out on my lack of conviction.

“You know what she reminds me of? A she-wolf I watched as a lad. Now, this she-wolf, she grew up in a large pack that roamed the Haunted Forest—about 25 strong. The prima male and female raised three litters of pups the summer before. They all lived through winter—except for two pups. The pack had grown too large, and even in the summer of plenty there was not enough food to feed such a large pack.

“So the weakest of the pack were forced out. And one of them was this young, white-coated female. She was quick, but hesitant in her kills and her littermates bullied her. So she left—alone—which is odd for a she-wolf.

“I remember watching her leave thinking that would be the last I would see of her. Come next spring, imagine my surprise, when I see her again with her beau—a handsome black wolf with gold eyes. What a pair they made—black fur next to white tufted with silver. 

“A lone female wolf found a mate—what does this have to do with Sansa?” I asked.

“Patience King Crow. I hope for Ygritte’s sake you were a more patient lover than a listener.”

I growled at his irreverent reference, but did not fight him, “Get on with it, you ginger bearded bastard.”

“Right, a couple of moons later she has a litter of five pups, while her mate was handsome, he was weak and a shite hunter.

“But she did what it took to feed her pups. I have never seen anything like it, a prima she-wolf hunting alone. I have seen mountains cats do it, but not a she-wolf. What hesitancy she had as young wolf was gone. She was quick and efficient. She snuck up on her prey, attacked from behind and snapped their neck if she could. She mostly hunted coyotes, rabbits and other small game—she didn’t have any other grown wolves in her pack to help her down the large game.

“I called her 'bitch of wounds' on account that she would always have red on her coat after getting the best of another predator. She could never escape a fight without bleeding—but she always won. She couldn't afford not to.

“Soon summer was coming to an end, and even though her pups were almost grown, they were still too young to hunt the big game.

“So she wandered farther and farther for game, until one day she wandered too far—right into our camp—and tried to take a haunch of deer. Brion got her with a dagger between the eyes before she got ten paces.

“When I saw her pelt the next day, I beat Brion bloody. He couldn’t see out of his right eye for a moon. I took the pelt and burnt her carcass. I slaughtered a goat and left it near her cub's den. 

“Maybe it was wrong of me to beat Brion, it is the way of life after all. But she was a jewel forged in the winds of winter. It was, what is the word you Southerners use?—sinful to kill such fierce beauty for a bit of fur.”

“I won’t leave Sansa to fend for herself,” I rebutted once I understood the warning in Tormund's tale.

“So you say. If the battle was anything to go by, she did not trust you to do what needed to be done, so she made a desperate gamble to ensure our victory. A gamble that saved our asses. You know I am right Jon Snow. She was right about that Bolton fuck, and she is right about that raven-haired twat Baelish. 

"Maybe instead of fighting each other, if you fought together we could have a chance of living past Winter.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Aye, I know you do. I am just saying you are doing a shite job of being her friend instead of her foe. She needs to know that you will have her back.”

“All right, all right,” I said. “Although for a single man, you have little ground to stand on in regards to making peace with a woman.”

“Hah, it is not hard to know more about woman than you, Jon Snow.” 

“Humpf.”

>>>>> <<<<<

I woke to the noise of the wildling camp in the morning. Tormund was still asleep to my left. 

_So that is how I stop the dreams._

I got up and arrived at Winterfell shortly after breakfast. I was told Sansa could be found in the kitchens.

When Sansa saw me in the doorway, she greeted me warmly, but her eyes were still wary. 

"Jon, where have you been? The night guard could not find you. The poor men were afraid they would be held responsible for the disappearance of their newly minted King."

"I spent the night in Tormund's tent."

"Whatever for?"

I shrugged my shoulders and gave her a form of the truth, "I couldn't sleep here."

When she saw I would not elaborate more, she did not press me. 

"Have you eaten?"

"No. I am not hungry."

At that, she roughly pressed a bowl of warm porridge in my hand. 

"Eat."

I smiled at her, and took the bowl, "As you wish."

As I turned to leave, I knew I still needed to make things right with her from the day before. 

"Sansa when you are done here, will join me in Lord St...in my solar?"

Unsurprisingly, at my request, her face turned stony and her posture stiff. 

_Bollocks, Sansa, I don't want to fight you. But does she know that?_

"As you wish, your grace."

Sansa found me shortly after in the solar looking at a map of Westeros. 

"Is now a good time, your grace?"

"Jon, please Sansa, call me Jon. And yes, sit."

"As you wish, Jon," Sansa said sweetly—a bit too sweetly. 

Sansa sat across me, shook her skirts, folded her hands in lap and tilted her head to the side with a guarded look on her face. Her movements reminded me of a knight preparing to parry. 

_She is expecting us to continue where we left off._

“I thought about what you said, about how we should prepare for war—a two-front war," I took a breath to steady my resolve. "I am going to oversee the capture and dispatching of the last of the Bolton’s men.”

Sansa’s expression soured before a slight, “tsk” left her mouth. 

“So, you mean to take the Dreadfort, Karhold, and the Last Hearth? And what will you do with the men? And who will hold them when you take them? What of the Bolton's still holed up in Moat Cailin?”

“I will offer them a choice of death or taking the black. The Dreadfort we can give to a loyal bannerman later, as for the Last Hearth and Karhold we will banish the traitors to the Wall and have all remaining heirs as our wards. Then we will march south and retake Moat Cailin.”

“With what men?”

“Any man who wishes to see justice done.”

“Can’t justice wait?”

“What for?”

“Is it really wise to split our manpower and leave Winterfell vulnerable?”

“The Wall needs more men and supplies. And the Night King is coming. This is the quickest way I know of to rid us of Bolton sympathizers and man the Wall. As for the South, we still have the Knights of the Vale and with the Bolton's gone the men at Moat Cailin will quickly surrender—the North has never been taken from the South, much less in Winter snows. As for Winterfell, father always said 500 good fighting men could defend Winterfell against any foe. ”

Sansa held my gaze for a couple moments more than was comfortable, while I resisted the urge to squirm. She looked away first. I sighed in relief that she had conceded this round. 

“That is a good plan. When do you plan to leave?”

“A fortnight from now.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three moons, maybe four.”

“Who will you name regent in your stead?”

“Surely, you know the answer to that.”

Her response was a blank face with a raised eyebrow. _She needs me to say it._

“You, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, the last known trueborn heir of Eddard Stark are my regent. Who do you think I would choose? Davos? Tormund?” 

“I did not know if you trusted me to manage Winterfell.”

It would polite to reply with a flattering and rhetorical, “Who else could I trust?” But we both knew that would be a lie. 

“We are here because of you. You are Lady of Winterfell. As King in the North, you are my regent. I will not dishonor you or our house by naming a southern knight or wildling captain in your place.”

Her face finally softened. _Good. She believed my me._ The image of her standing before the hall in her mother’s dress stood in my mind. _She fears I will usurp her. She is under no obligation to believe anyone. Least of all you._

“Sansa, you have no need to fear of me on that front. I will never threaten your claim to Winterfell.”

The corner of her mouth curled in the wisp of a smile but there was pity in her eyes. 

“Jon, that ship has sailed. I have no claim now that you have been declared King. You are now my guardian until I marry again. You can do to me as you wish.”

I balked at the silent implication, that I would want to _do_ something to her—that I had taken her claim.

“Surely, you know I won’t give your hand in marriage unless you wish it or ask anything of you that is dishonorable. I have not forgotten who is the rightful heir—even if I do wear the crown.”

She gave me that guarded look again, the one I have yet to peer behind. 

After a moment she stood and said, “Let me know how many men and what provisions you need before you take your trip. I will be in the kitchens or my solar if you need me.”

>>>>> <<<<<

“Your Grace, I heard rumors this morning that you will be leading a party of men to capture Bolton sympathizers and to bolster the Wall,” asked Lord Baelish during supper later that evening. What else did Sansa tell him? “Forgive me your Grace, but do you think it wise to flank the Wall men who have little love for you or the North?”

“That is nothing new Lord Baelish,” I scoffed. “But I would rather have them at the Wall than as charred bones under my feet. They will be of greater use to us and the realm there.”

“But, what if they should mutiny under this new Lord Commander, as they did with Mormont—?” continued Lord Baelish, not amused. 

I bristled at Littlefinger’s unspoken slight “ _—as they did with you._ ”

“I will give all of Bolton’s men a choice, take the black or die a traitor death by my sword. Davos will carry the bodies of the dead with him. And when they arrive on the other side of the Wall, they will know who is the true enemy of men.”

“As you say, _your grace_.”

“I welcome you to join our party and see for you yourself the magic of the Night King.”

“That will not be necessary, I assure you. You are much like the late Lord Eddard Stark. There is no need to doubt _your_ word.”

_Unlike Sansa._

I clenched and unclenched the fist of my burned hand on the armrest of my seat. 

_Did he tell her to do it? Would her acting of her own accord hurt more or less than Littlefinger telling her what to do? Why do I resent her for doing what needed to be done to win back Winterfell?_

_You are not a Stark. You do not belong here._

In that moment I greatly wished I could separate Littlefinger’s head from his shoulders like all the other traitors. But there are a great many things I wished for in life and the more wishes that come true, the more I wish they hadn’t—not like they had. I dare not make another wish without knowing the price, I, _that we_ , would have to pay. 

I no longer had an appetite. 

“If you will excuse me Lord Baelish, it has been a long day.”

>>>>> <<<<


	3. The Flight of the Dragonfly and the Mockingbird — Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sansa pulls the thread on Petyr's plot to control the Knights of the Vale, she is not prepared for the truth she finds.

“In one fell swoop, she destroyed the faith militant with wildfyre and the whole court, including the Tyrells.”

I had turned to look out the window as Petyr finished telling me the reports from King's Landing, watching the snow lazily fall. He had pulled me out of the hall, to tell me that Sweet Tommen and beautiful and charming Margaery—gone. Even Loras. 

_The knight of flowers could not survive the winter. Neither did the Sansa of summer._

I braced my hands on the window sill and allowed tears to fall. I then turned to face Baelish, and daintily wiped my cheeks.

_Let him think I can't control my grief._

“And Cersei? Do you know of her plans?”

“Well, I can’t be certain, but now that she has destroyed her enemies in court and has named herself Queen, in time she will set her sights on the North again. Sooner rather than later now that the North has declared independence and I have declared for you.

I smirked that Petyr wouldn’t say Jon’s name or how the North declared independence by naming Jon King. 

_Old habits die hard it seems. He only ever calls my mother Catelyn or Catelyn Tully. He never speaks of her as a Stark. And now another, not even a true Stark—a bastard—has taken what he wanted._

“Do you think she will march on the North?”

“If she had the resources and it was not Winter, yes. But as it stands, no. The Lannister army no longer has Tyrell foot soldiers to bolster its ranks nor Tyrell provisions to feed it. Even then it would be a fool’s errand; the North has never been taken from the South.” 

“Mhmm. Well, I am sure Cersei can manufacture her own destruction before we have to worry about her on that account.”

“Quite right, my lady. But that does not mean she will not try to get her claws into you before then.”

_And who will be her claws, Petyr?_

“I would gladly march on King’s Landing with the Knights of the Vale and sack the city before she can do anymore harm to you, my love. As Lady of the Vale, I would be honor bound to protect you against her.”

 _Ah, there it is._

“You presume too much, Lord Baelish.”

Baelish stepped towards me. I felt his minty breath warm my cheek. 

“Do I? Tell me what place do you have here? The North has rallied around Jon—a bastard—over you—the last trueborn child of Eddard Stark! Where were your loyal Northmen when you were being brutalized by Ramsey? Who fought for you?”

“Jon—” 

“The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in, and you know it. I fought for you and won! I gave you Winterfell! Then they stole it from you! The North Remembers! Ba! There is no place for you here. They had the chance to declare for you, but they choose a bastard. This is no longer your home. Your home is with me in the Vale.”

_I know you will not abandon your investment in Winterfell or the North so quickly. And an inconvenient monarch has not stopped you before._

“And marry Robin? He is a child. But more importantly, why would I choose to remain under the protection of a man that sold me to a monster? Or have you so quickly forgotten what he did to me?”

“I made a mistake. And I know I can’t undo the trauma he inflicted. Regardless of his true nature, it still doesn’t change my original argument: marrying him was the only way you would have been poised to destroy him. And you did—we did.”

“You are right. You sold me to the Boltons, and you saved me from them. By all accounts, we are even. I owe you nothing, least of all control of my hand.”

“What of Cersei?”

“You said it yourself, she will not march on the North and I don’t need you to sack King’s Landing over a vague threat, not now. Winter has come.”

_You are a bigger threat to Jon and me than Cersei ever will be._

Petyr’s gaze hardened as he realized the sincerity of my resolve to deny him. 

“I see,” he said with a click of his tongue. “Well since it seems you no longer have need me or the protection of the Vale, I must take my leave of you. I wish you good fortunes in the war to come and know you will always have a friend in the Vale.”

_You overestimate your influence Petyr._

“And I wish you safe travels and good health when you return to the Vale. I know they miss your wise leadership. I will make sure to keep the Knights of the Vale in good health and spirits.”

“You misunderstand me,” Petyr bit out. 

“I understand you perfectly. You would be a fool to think the Knights of the Vale are going to meekly return home after pledging themselves to Jon. They feel honor bound to serve him in the war to come. What will they think of their Lord Regent, who asks them to forsake their fealty with the King in the North—because a twice-married woman refused a proposal in marriage?”

“They will not disobey a direct order from the Lord of the Vale.”

“The Lord of the Vale is not here. And we both know your power as regent weakens the farther from Robin and the Vale you stray. Surely, you don’t mean to kill Lord Royce for treason? What would your Knights think? Better yet, what will the Lord Declarants do when you return home? Surely you won’t claim Royce’s suicide by beheading.”

I could see Petry’s jaw clench and the vein in his temple throb. My cheeks twitched with the suppressed impulse to smile at his impotence. 

After a long moment, Petyr swallowed and straightened his sleeves and looked at me as meekly as he could muster, “My lady, I am sorry if I have given you offense.”

I grabbed his hand and gave him small, but kind smile. 

“Please don’t think that. No offense was taken. You have repaid your debt to me,” I said before I kissed him on the cheek.

I then pulled back, “I wish you no ill will, I promise. After everything, I still trust you more than I trust Jon. He couldn’t protect me, but you always have, in your own way.”

_Let him make of that what he will._

I took a step back and dropped his hand. 

“When should I expect your departure? I will be sure to let the kitchens prepare something for you and your men.”

Another pause. 

“My lady, if you would be so kind, I would like to stay here with the Knights of the Vale. That is if you will have me?”

“Of course. We would be honored to have you here. I will inform Jon that you will be staying and let him know that I have invited you to sit on his small council.”

Petyr’s eyes widened at the unexpected invitation and his face relaxed as he realized he has not been excluded from his place of power. He bowed to me. When he rose, I saw his self-confidence settle around his shoulders once more.

_You are a fool Petyr if you think I have truly forgiven you or that I will forget. Your days are numbered here._

“Thank you, my lady. You honor me, truly. If you will excuse me, I wish to inform Lord Royce of our plans.”

>>>>>> <<<<<<

Baelish found me the next day in my solar shortly after noon. 

“Excuse my lady, may I have a moment of your time?”

We both knew it was a false courtesy. He would take my time regardless if I consented or not. 

“Lord Royce tells me that some of the knights have volunteered to help Jon round up the remaining Bolton sympathizers and bolster the Wall. Did you know about this?”

“Yes. Jon, told me of his plan this morning. I think it quite sound. Why?”

“You truly don’t believe this hogwash about a Night King and an army of undead do you?”

_Jon doesn’t lie, well, at least not that well. And he has no reason to lie about this. This is not some absurd power grab for the Iron Throne, I assure you._

“Of course not! But if it serves a motivation to round up the last of the Bolton sympathizers and man the Wall, then I see so harm in it. With the Wall properly manned we can throw the wildlings back on the other side of it soon enough.”

_Gaintsbane is on track to become the next great house of the North, you fool. The wildlings are not going anywhere anytime soon._

I hadn’t seen Petyr’s eye gleam with such pride since the day I lied to the Lord Declarants about Lysa’s death. 

_Yes, Petyr. That is right, think I am still your loyal pawn._

“I have taught you well, my clever girl.”

“You taught me how to stay alive when I was powerless. For that, I will always be grateful.”

I bowed my head and continued my embroidery on the white maiden cloak I was making for Jon’s bride. The next step to securing Jon’s seat in the North was marriage to another Northerner, probably Wylla Manderly or Alys Karstark, depending on how he wished to shore up his loyalties. He is not a true King nor does he have a Kingdom until he has an heir. 

Petyr had not excused himself.

“Is there something else?”

“How likely do you think that the North will rebel against its bastard king, especially when this Night King fails to appear?”

_You should not be asking me this Petyr. You truly must think me stupid, if you are asking me to help you plan a coup against my only remaining family—bastard or not._

“I don’t know. It depends on who he marries and what allegiances he makes. Even then, he is a Stark in their eyes now, whatever sin he commits would need to be abhorrent for the North to rebel against a Stark.”

“I thought as much.”

_What are you planning Petyr? What alliances or marriage would cause the North to rebel against their newly minted King?_

But I held my tongue. My advantage over Petyr, lay in his belief that while I was clever, I was not clever enough to check him. 

_And are you Sansa? You know what happens to people who get in Petyr’s way. If you play this game with him, you, Jon and the whole of the North will pay, and there will never be a Stark in Winterfell again._

I continued stitching Jon’s maiden cloak, hoping that I would get to see him safely wedded and bedded. 

_He would probably fare better at marriage than I ever did. Even in an arranged marriage, he would be a dutiful and warm husband. He would never hurt his wife._

I felt briefly jealous of his future bride at the thought. 

_Better him than me._

“If you will excuse me, my lady, I have other matters to attend to today. Thank you for your time.”

“It was my pleasure as always, Petyr.”

>>>>> <<<<<<

I woke a week after the battle to the baying of hounds and a larger than normal clamor in the courtyard. 

_What in the seven hells?_

I quickly plaited my hair and pulled on that plain but thick gray dress that I had found in the trunk with Robb’s old court costume. I stopped in the kitchens to hear the morning gossip. 

I called on the head cook, a formerly stout woman thinned by the war, Bessy, to tell me what exactly was happening. 

“Some of the Lords and Knights of the Vale are going on a hunt.”

“Do you know who is going?

“Lord Royce, Lord Templeton and Captain Belmore, I believe m’ lady.”

_While Baelish does not have true friends in the Vale, he pays Lord Templeton and Captain Belmore handsomely for their loyalty. Lord Royce can barely tolerate the men._

“Thank you, Bessy. Oh and be sure a third of all they bring back is put in the larder, a full third. Winter is here. So be a thrifty as you can with the meat pies if you need to. And if anyone protests, tell them the Lady of Winterfell commanded it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bessy with an approving gleam in her eye. 

_Good, I thought she would understand; it is better to be thin than to be dead._

>>>>> <<<<<

I knocked on Jon’s chamber door—Robb’s old room—and barely waited until I heard a gruff, “It’s open,” before I pushed my way into the room. 

Jon was just getting ready to pull his shirt over his head as he turned toward me. 

“What is it Dav—Sansa! I wasn’t expecting you,” Jon said as he hastily pulled down his shirt, but not quickly enough for me to not see the knife marks left on his torso. 

_Obviously. And you don’t expect a lot of things if those marks are anything to go by._

“I am sorry. But it can’t wait.”

“Aye, I can see that. What is it?”

“Some of the Lords and Knights of the Vale are going for a hunt.”

“Good. More meat for the larder.”

“Yes, and I am going with them.”

Jon opened his mouth, after a quick assessment of my face whatever hasty reply he had, he thought better of it, before saying, “Do you think that is wise?”

_He is learning to trust me._

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be going.”

“Am I allowed to ask why you are going?”

“Yes, but it is better if I don’t tell you—yet.”

_You are a poor schemer, and I am just working off a hunch._

If the purse of his lips were any indication, Jon did not like that answer.

“You can go, but only on the condition that you take Ghost.”

“Ghost? He is your wolf. He doesn’t know me well enough to—”

“He liked you well enough when we were campaigning for men. I have never seen him so keen to be petted, not since he was a pup.”

I was caught off guard by the heat that I felt creep up my neck, and the unexpected shame that sank my stomach.

_He is a bastard, but he is more a Stark than I will ever be, all because his wolf lives. I will never be seen as a true Stark because I let Lady die—because I am a woman without honor._

“If you are accusing me of spoiling him, you didn’t stop me—”

“Peace, peace. I wasn’t trying to start a fight. I was only trying to point out your argument doesn’t stand in this case. Ghost knows you. He likes you. He will protect you.”

 _Oh._

Jon’s guilelessness never ceased to surprise me.

_You have your work cut out for you Sansa._

“If you wish.”

“Aye, now go and get dressed before they leave you behind. I will have a horse readied for you.”

“Thank you, Jon,” I said with a genuine smile and happy tilt of my head. 

_I don’t deserve a brother like you. You are too good for this world. Why the gods brought you back to this cruel place, I will never understand._

>>>>> <<<<<

“Lord Royce! Shame on you for not telling me you were going on a hunt!” I called out merrily across the yard. 

“Lady Sansa, I meant no offense. We only decided to go yesterday morning, I did not wish to presume to take you away from your duties,” said Royce, with a bow. “But it looks like you heard of our plans all the same. And I take by your dress, that you will be joining us morning?”

As much as it hated it, I raided Myranda’s old things for suitable female hunting attire. I wore her wool pants under my gray dress and her fitted leather doublet over my bodice. A belt and dagger I took from the armory hung around my waist.

_If only Arya could only see me now._

Even though, I knew I would never wear her clothes again, at least not without altering them significantly first (Needs do as needs must after all winter is here), I couldn’t help but feel pleasure in wearing clothes that once belonged to my tormentor. 

_To the victor go the spoils. Maybe Ramsey is part of you now Sansa?_

“If you will have me, Lord Royce. Maybe now it is I who presumes too much in hoping that you brave Lord and Knights will have room for a Lady on your hunt. I promise not to slow you down too much,” I said grinning winningly at Royce and the rest of the Knights. 

“Oh, pish-posh, my lady. Of course, we would be honored to have the Lady of Winterfell on our hunt. Won’t we lads?”

There was a loud answering, “Aye,” but when I looked at Templeton and Belmore, their sour faces told me all I needed to know. 

_So there was a plot, and I am spoiling it._

My mount was brought over and the saddle bag was packed with the usual cheese, bread, ale—who packed the candied walnuts?

_Jon. He is the only one left that could have remembered._

“Sansa, I think you forgot something.”

Speak of the Stranger and he will come. 

I looked over and I saw Jon with Ghost silently padding behind him. If I thought Templeton and Belmore wore sour faces before, at the sight of Ghost their faces curdled. 

“Do you mean to join us King Jon?” asked Lord Royce.

“Not today, I am afraid, but I hope you will not mind if my wolf joins Lady Sansa during your hunt. He is quite keen on her and makes a better guard than none,” said Jon as he took in my outfit, his eyes lingering at the knife at my waist before looking at Lord Royce. 

Royce eyed the direwolf warily but agreed to allow Ghost on the hunt.

“Although King Jon, I will blame you if your _pet_ scares away all the game.” Turning his horse towards the hunter’s gate, he roared, “Let’s go, lads before we lose any more light.”

When I turned to mount my horse to follow them, I found Jon with his hands in a cradle instead of the stable boy.

_Really, that is not necessary._

“Thank you Jon,” I said as I put my foot in his hands and my heart flew into my throat as he boosted me onto my seat. 

But before I could move my horse forward, Jon grabbed the reins and looked me somberly in the eyes.

“Sansa, you will tell me what this is all about when you return.”

 _As much as I am able._

“Yes, of course.”

He let go of the reigns and gave the horse a firm slap on his hind quarters. I turned to look at him, and he waved me off and told Ghost to follow. 

>>>>> <<<<<<

I was quite useless on the hunt, considering I choose not to learn archery as a girl, much less on a horse.

_I was such a stupid child and now I am as useless as a flower in Winter. What use is embroidery against an army of the undead? They would find my stitched direwolf sigil terrifying I am sure._

But Lord Royce was more than happy to continue the falconry education he has started while Petyr and I had stayed at Runestone. Education being a generous term. I hummed and nodded, and dutifully asked questions. Even if Royce was a long-winded and a slightly an inept teacher, the appeal of falconry still shined through. 

If given a chance, I would love to have a falcon and a hound that I raised and trained myself. I would no longer have to borrow the weapons of men to survive. 

_I may have lost Lady, and never be seen as true Stark again, but that doesn’t mean I need to be forever vulnerable. I am tired of being the prey._

“Lord Royce, your love of hawking is contagious. Do you think I could ever be a huntress with a falcon and hound of my own?”

“Why of course. My granddaughter Wylla is great huntress! All you will need is a tutor, a hatchling, and a pup.” 

“Maybe that can be your wedding present to me, Lord Royce.”

“Wedding, Lady Sansa? But you are ah...freshly widowed. Forgive me, my lady, if I speak too freely, but from the tales I heard of Ramsay Bolton, I would think you would not like to jump into another eh...marriage bed so soon.”

_More like intentionally and forcibly widowed. No man will ever touch me again unless I want him to._

I just wanted to know where he stood on Baelish’s scheme to wed me to Robin. 

“Yes, you are correct Lord Royce, and you have no need to apologize. But since the Knights of the Vale came to our aid when no one else would, Lord Baelish would like to strengthen the ties between the Vale and the North through marriage. He wishes me to marry Robin on his 16th name day. Robin is harmless enough. I can teach him how to be a proper husband.”

_If Joffrey's wedding is anything to go by, Robin would only live long for me to conceive an heir and a spare. While Baelish says he wants me, he couldn’t marry me, kill Robin and still have the Vale. No, I think a more likely turn of events is Robin and I will marry, and Baelish will try to get into my bed—making “Robin’s” child his. But if Petyr thinks I will let him bed me, I will gut him like a fish._

As I expected, Royce’s face turned an impressive shade of red as I told him of Baelish’s schemes. I don’t think he protested the idea of the marriage so much that Baelish was orchestrating it. But his anger on my behalf seemed real enough.

“Forgive me, my lady, you would do the Vale a great credit by becoming its Lady, but surely after everything you have been through to return home, you would not wish to leave again so soon. And we both know the type of man Robin will become, he could never be a proper husband to a woman like you Lady Sansa, regardless of how much you train him. It is not a match your father would have wanted for you.”

Lord Royce’s words caught me off guard, and I suddenly remembered something my father told me long ago.

_Sweet one, listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong._

My heart clenched at the memory. 

_I was such a stupid child. My father was good to want that for me, but he was just as naive as I was. No such man lives—not anymore._

“While I am not opposed to strengthening the ties of the Vale to the North, I just don’t believe this is the way. But as it stands, Robin is your cousin and as a friend of your father and house Stark, I vow that the Vale will not abandon you, Lady Sansa, during the dark night to come—not while I breathe.”

_Such fealty is why Baelish wants him gone, among other reasons. He does not want the Vale to make any such oaths to me or my bastard brother King._

But I was not prepared for how Lord Royce’s words affected me. I swallowed to ensure my voice didn’t quiver when I spoke. 

_Who knew this pompous old knight had such a heart._

“My father was fortunate to have such a friend in you and I am in turned blessed to have received such devotion from you, as his daughter.”

Lord Royce looked away and cleared his throat, clearly trying to hide the effects of my words. 

Before Lord Royce could say anything else, we heard the bugling of a stag and the hunt was officially afoot. 

>>>>> <<<<<<

I sat next to Captain Belmore and Lord Templeton as the party rested after catching the stag and several boars.

“Care for some candied walnuts, my Lords? I have more than enough to go around. My teeth are starting to ache already.” I offered holding out the cloth filled with the sweets to the two knights as a way to open a conversation. 

“Why thank you, my lady, don’t mind if I do,” said Lord Belmore as he gently took some nuts from my palm. He was as old as Baelish, but he was still fair with a red beard and sandy hair flecked with gray. 

“Captain Belmore, I hope you don’t mind me saying, that is a fine breastplate you are wearing. The metal work gives such depth to your sigil, the silver bell. Does it ring like one when struck?” I asked coquettishly. 

“I wouldn’t know Lady Stark, as I have not been struck down while wearing it, and nor do I wish to ring that bell just yet,” Belmore says as a smile changes his face from fair to handsome and he quickly knocks on wood jokingly. 

“Oh yes, of course. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply that I wish you ill fortune,” I said with a stammer and blush. 

_Let them think I am weak and stupid. It is not so hard to pretend that I still am._

“There is nothing to forgive my lady.”

“You are kind for saying so. But I will pray for your safety in the war to come all the same. I would blame myself terribly if something happened to you.”

Now it was Captain Belmore’s turn to blush and Lord Templeton just looked on with a small smile cutting his wizened cheek at his companions discomfort at receiving such a favor from a lady. 

_Men are so predictable around pretty woman who they think are above them, for better or worse. Cersei would be proud._

“Do not fret my lady, if anything should happen to Marwyn here, it will be entirely his own fault,” said Lord Templeton as he slapped his companion on the back and laughed gamely at the scowl that crossed Belmore’s face. 

_I don’t doubt that for a second, especially if you fools are in Baelish’s pockets._

_You found his pockets to be warm once too, Sansa. What does that make you?_

I pushed that voice that sounded too much like Petyr’s from my mind. 

“I will pray for you all the same Lord Belmore. For the last man that I saw who has such fine armor from the Vale, Sir Hugh, Lord Jon Arynn’s old squire, and Lord Baelish’s _friend_ met an untimely and gruesome end at a tourney at King’s Landing. I don’t wish you to meet the same fate,” I said dropping my flirting tone and meeting Lord Belmore’s eyes.

I did not miss the startled glances that passed between them at my veiled warning.

_Yes, you should be curious about what I know about what happens to people who outlast their usefulness to Lord Baelish._

But before they could gather their wits to ask outright what I meant, I excused myself. 

“If you will please excuse me, I need to speak to Lord Royce before we return to Winterfell.”

>>>>> <<<<<

Lord Baelish found me in my solar again after I changed from the hunt. Jon’s maiden cloak again in my lap. 

“I admit to being surprised to hear that you joined Lord Royce on a hunt this morning. I didn’t know you had such _love _for the sport, and now I am curious at what other _talents_ you are keeping from me, my lady,” said Baelish as he walked into the room. __

_I am not your lady. I will never be your lady._

“Lord Baelish, why don't you take a seat by the fire, winter is here after all, and you are not used to the North and must be chilled.” 

“Thank you my lady. You must be as cold and out of place as I. Because correct me if you I am wrong, you were just a babe during the last winter and you have almost been away from the North as long as you were last here,” said Petyr as he adjusted his robes and sat with his back toward the door. 

Petry’s volley was well aimed and I struggled to not squirm as his slight pinned me to my chair. I forced myself to continue my stitching and not look at him. 

Push. Pull through. Push and pull through again. The rhythm calmed me. 

_No matter my insecurities, I am not the one who is unwelcome here Petyr. You may know me, but you don’t know everything._

“Mhmm, that may be true, but as you kept reminding me I am a trueborn Stark, and Stark’s are sovereigns of Winter. While I haven’t developed a talent for hunting since we left the Vale, I seem to have adapted to the cold quite well. I don’t know if that is a talent as I didn’t cultivate it, but it is an advantage I have by blood.” 

“Quite so, my lady. It would also be to your advantage to not meddle in matters you don’t understand.”

“What matters?” I asked pulling my head away from the fabric in my lap to meet his gaze finally. 

“Don’t play the fool with me girl, we both know what you did when you joined the hunt today.”

_Yes we do, but you will be the first to name your intent. I will not supply that for you._

“I don’t remember doing much of anything really. I just went along because Jon was being, well Jon, and I wanted to spend a morning without him around.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You obviously haven’t spent much time in his company. He is humorless, dimwitted and barely talks. And when he does talk, he talks about the Night King and war to come, instead of tending to the reality of his kingdom,” I said with a hint of a whine in my voice. 

_Forgive me, Jon._

“All the more reason, you should not have gone on that hunt.”

“I don’t understand,” I said with wide eyes as I looked at Petyr. “Really I don’t. I don’t see how me being on the hunt, would stop Jon from being boring.”

“Lord Royce was not supposed to return from the hunt today, well at least not living.”

The shocked that appeared on my face was genuine, but not for the reason Baelish would believe.

_He admitted it! But why?_

It took me a second to gather my composure and to think of anything to appropriate say, that would not reveal my true position. I choose to continue my feigned innocence. I wanted to see how much he would tell me.

“But his death would unleash chaos—”

“Precisely.”

“To what end?”

“You know exactly to what end, Sansa.”

_He would have unadulterated power of the Knights of the Vale, for a time at least. Enough time to abandon the North or overtake it if he dared._

_And he would dare._

His gazed pinned me once more to my seat, like in bug in a collection. But I did not squirm, despite feeling trapped. The refuge of my stitching abandoned on my lap. I said the only thing I could think to say, wondering as I said it if I could answer my promise. 

“I will admit, that I joined the hunt because I was suspicious of the motives of your men. But given your history, you can hardly blame me? But I did not suspect I was spoiling a plot. Truely.

Speaking more with steel than I felt, “But, hear me now Lord Baelish, if anything happens to Lord Royce, I will have you jailed and tried for treason against your King. And I will personally swing the sword. 

“Whether you like it or not, Jon is the King in the North, and he is not yours to control or unseat. He is mine. And I, and I alone, will be responsible for his fate.”

Not it was Petyr’s turn to curb his surprise and measure his next words.

“I admit I am surprised Sansa. I thought you were quite pleased when Jon was elected ‘King in the North.' You wouldn’t listen to me earlier when I spoke of him.”

“We were discussing what I owed you for rallying and ensuring the loyalty of Knights of the Vale to our cause. Which is nothing. We were not speaking about what to do about Jon.”

“Yes, and what do you want to do about Jon, my lady?”

_Keep in him crowned and alive for as long as possible._

I bowed my head and picked up my sewing again before I answered him. 

Push. Pull through. Push and pull through again. 

“I really don’t I need to do much about Jon, Petyr. He is more than capable of manufacturing his next martyrdom. He got himself killed 'doing the right thing' by the wildlings and he nearly killed himself and all his men during the battle trying to save Rickon—even when I told him explicitly that Rickon’s life was forfeit. All I need to do is not save him from himself.”

I nearly jumped in my seat at Petyr’s sudden laugh. It was soft and genuine and unnerving all at the once. It was like he had heard the wittiest jape in the world and it scared me. 

I stopped mid-stitch and looked at him, “I don’t understand. Why is that funny?”

“Oh, my dear if only you knew.”

_Knew what?_

My stomach dropped with dread. I opened my mouth to protest, but I shut it again, deciding to give him a chance to give me a clue to his uncharacteristic mirth.

After he composed himself again he said, “You may be Ned Stark’s daughter by blood, but your cleverness and how you weld it makes you more my daughter than you ever were his.”

And he laughed a little more. 

“My mind is my own. You have no claim to it—just like the rest of me.”

“No, but I taught you everything you know about stagecraft, my love. And your plan to get rid of Jon is a good one. Allowing an enemy tie their own noose is the easiest and most effective way to destroy them while keeping your hands clean. All you have to do is _push_.”

I stopped myself from asking whose noose he helped tie because I sensed that the truth would swallow me.

_What if Joffery had been advised to take father's head?_

If I had been standing, that sudden unbidden question would have knocked my knees from under me. Instead, I pushed my needle too forcefully through the wool and pricked my unsuspecting finger on the other end. 

“Oo,” I quickly put my assaulted finger in my mouth, and sucked the blood away and massaged the wound with my tongue. I could barely swallow as I felt my throat constrict in panic.

_But why would Petyr do something so cruel to the only person he has claimed to love? What would he have to gain but her hate and resentment?_

When I looked back at Petyr after returning my pricked hand to my lap, all mirth was gone from his face, and he was looking at me with a familiar heat in his eyes. 

_Ramsey used to look at me that way, right before he beat me._

But I knew that Petyr did not want to hit me; he wanted me in an entirely different way. Bile rose up my throat, and my heart was trying to escape my chest, but I could not move. Terror and revulsion now pinned me in my chair. 

_Petyr said that he cared for me, and he still sold me to the Bolton’s. Is it really outside the realm of possibility that he would betray my mother the same way?_

I took a breath and tried to continue the pretense of this conversation even though my head with buzzing like I had drunk a whole flagon of wine.

“I couldn’t care less who is the original author of this plot,” I snapped. “Just as long as you leave Jon and Lord Royce to me. And I will have your head if you work against me, I swear it. But if you are still my ally, then you have no need to fear me.”

If Petyr was surprised at my tone, he did not show it. 

_He probably thinks you are peeved that he took credit for your plan. Not that you think he killed your father._

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to remain in your service. I promise that I will never do anything that could harm you again.”

“Good,” I said standing up. “Now if you'll excuse me, Lord Baelish, I need to talk to cook about supper.” 

I walked as slowly as I could for as long as I could until I reached the end of the hall and I then bolted down the stairs and into the courtyard.

When I found myself at the heart tree, I collapsed and vomited in the snow.


	4. A Kingdom for a Wife — Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving a letter from the Dragon Queen, Littlefinger urges Jon to adjust his plans for war and marriage.

I found Sansa alone in her solar staring into the fire, but her dazed look told me it was not the fire that fascinated her.

Not wanting to add to her worries, I lingered longer than I should have in the doorway.

“I thought you were done with sulking in a corner, Jon Snow.”

_Damn._

“Aye, well, a doorway is an improvement over a corner.”

_It offers a better view at least._

Now that I had been caught, I entered the room, closed the door and walked to stand by the fire.

“So you admit you were you spying on me, Jon?” 

Speaking into the fire I said, “No, never. I am a poor spy.” _At least compared to you and Baelish, but I did fool Mance though—for a time._

“Why did you need to be on the hunt today Sansa?” I said while looking over my shoulder to meet her gaze. 

She took a deep breath, straightened her spine and searched my eyes, before deciding to speak. 

“Lords that I knew to be in Lord Baelish’s employ were going on the hunt. I went on the hunch that they were up to something.”

“Were they?”

“Yes.”

“What did you see?”

Sansa took another deep breath and gave me conflicted look—as if she was weighing the merits of telling me all she suspected. 

_She doesn’t know how you will react to her assessment of the situation—whether you will dismiss her again._

“I didn’t see anything,” She looked away from me and into the fire. “Lord Baelish confirmed my suspicions afterward though.” 

_What? Why?_

“Why is Lord Baelish telling you his plans? Is this some sort of trick?”

“No. It is not a trick. I—I know because he thinks I am an ally.”

“An ally in what, exactly?”

The deep breath she took next failed to clear the anxiety from her voice. 

“In—in unseating you and regaining control of the Knights of the Vale.”

I turned away from her and walked behind the empty chair across from her before dropping into it with more angst than I wanted to show.

_It is the truth at least—why else would she admit it? If not to show her loyalty to me. Am I angry because she is scheming with Littlefinger or that she is playing at betraying me?_

But the heat of anger slowly shifted to the burn of shame. 

_Winterfell is hers, by blood and conquest. I just was named King because I commanded the army and I have a cock. She would be justified in wanting my head._

I scrubbed my face with my hands. 

“Sansa—do you wish to have the crown? It is yours by right. When this is all over if—if I am alive, I will see you properly recognized. And if I die, you are my heir.”

“Jon, no, no, no. Our safety depends on you remaining the King in the North. We may have regained Winterfell, but you were declared King during a war. So until you are married and have an heir, your crown is also our the biggest threat. I am doing all in my power to ensure you remain King, even if that includes playing turncloak.”

_Marriage?_

My stomach twisted warmly at the thought. The very idea felt forbidden and familiar all at the same time. 

_Second to being Lord of Winterfell, you always wanted a beautiful lady wife and a dozen trueborn children—everything denied to you as a bastard. Becoming a man of the Night’s Watch did not change those desires, it just made it honorable to deny something you could never have._

_Honestly, Jon, a dozen children? You are a covetous bastard. A handful of children is more than enough._

My mouth twitched at the thought of twelve trueborn children. 

_My poor lady wife. I would be happy to hold just one child of my own._

I shook the thought of holding a child with dark hair and gray eyes from my head. 

_She is right. I will have to marry now that I am King. But if being crowned King during a war is dangerous, a marriage alliance seems even more precarious._

“What woman would want to marry a bastard king unlikely to live long enough to sire, let alone raise children? Marriage can wait. But Baelish can’t. This game you are playing with him is dangerous. I don’t trust him with you.”

Sansa tightened her spine, pursed her lips and lifted her chin in defiance of my doubt. 

“Jon, you don’t understand. I am all that is standing between Baelish and your head on a spike. When you were declared King, we were thrust into the great game—the game of thrones—a game where Lord Baelish is a champion and you are an unwelcome contender. He wants you dead. My playing his confidant is the only chance we have to stop him. You have no choice _but_ to trust me with him.”

I knew she and Littlefinger were well matched. But I struggled not to feel shame in my inability to fight such men myself—that I put her such in danger. 

_Ygritte would geld you for thinking so poorly of a woman. Didn’t her shrewdness and spear save you more than once? Sansa is not a spearwife, but she is just as fierce and clever._

_Ygritte probably wouldn’t understand her strength. She would laugh at the silk of Sansa’s dress and not see the steel of her spine or the ice of her eyes._

_Then again, you didn’t see it either._

“What did Lord Baelish tell his men to do on the hunt?”

“I believe Lord Templeton and Captain Belmore were instructed to kill Lord Royce and make it look like a hunting accident. But when I showed up with Ghost, they backed down.

“With Royce gone, Baelish would have control of an army perfectly positioned to defeat us.”

_He would have had military control of the North and the Vale—at least briefly. That is if the Knights did not put his head on a spike first._

“Exactly. When Lord Royce arrived from the hunt alive and well, Lord Baelish approached me about what I knew.” 

“And that is when you told him that you wanted my head as well—because I had taken your birthright?”

My tone was harsher than intended, and Sansa shifted in her seat at my veiled accusation. 

_You are defensive of something that is not yours. She is justified is wanting her birthright restored._

“More or less. I told him that you were mine and mine alone to destroy and that if he did anything to Lord Royce, I would have him tried for treason and I would personally swing the sword”

I leaned back in my chair at the soft violence of her voice and arched an eyebrow in her direction. I felt a rush of glee as a vivid picture of her in a blood-stained white dress and Petyr’s head in her hand filled my mind. 

“Have you ever swung a sword, Sansa?” I said fighting the curl encroaching on my lip. 

“No. But removing a head seems straightforward enough. At least it did with father.”

My brief amusement at the thought of her swinging Longclaw over Littlefinger’s head soured into shame and shock. 

"You were there? You saw it?”

Sansa’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright, but her voice was restrained and soft. 

“Yes. I—we thought he was going to be pardoned. I had begged Joffery for mercy, for father to be allowed to take the Black. That is why they allowed me on the dais, to encourage him to confess. And father dishonored himself by confessing crimes he did not commit in an attempt to save my life. But Joffery took his head anyway and called it mercy.”

 _‘No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.’_ Discovering the context of her harsh truth from the eve of the battle, shamed me for ever resenting her for denying my protection. 

_I would have died with father if I had been there. I would have raged and killed any and every man I could get my hands on. I would not have survived seeing father die like that._

_Maybe she didn’t either. Maybe that snobbish but sweet Sansa you knew as a child died that day too._

My heart splintered a little more for her. 

“Sansa, I am sor—”

“Yes, yes. He is dead and I couldn’t stop it. I can’t change the past. All I can do is see that father’s fate is not yours.”

I opened my mouth to try and comfort her, to reassure her, but I closed it when I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. 

_I wish I could hold her. I wish I could make her believe that father’s death was not her fault. That my fate is not her responsibility or her penance for failing Father._

Instead, I said lamely, “I wish we could lock Baelish up before he hatches anymore schemes.”

Sansa nodded as she picked up the abandoned fabric in her lap. 

“Yes, but we don’t have proof. My word means nothing. I would most likely be seen as an accomplice. The North may pity me, but they don’t trust me. Your crown is fragile enough as it is. We can’t start just throwing rivals in prison over speculation.”

“Mhhmm. Then what is your plan for Baelish?”

Sansa heaved a sigh and her brow creased as she pulled her needle through. 

“I don’t know, yet. But I know what he wants and I know how he thinks, more or less. I can manage Lord Baelish in your absence.”

“Wants? What else could he want besides my head and control over the Vale?” I said as I clenched and unclenched my fist. _Now who is the covetous bastard._

Sansa’s hands stilled and looked up at me with an arched brow when she said, “He believes I owe him a debt for bringing the Knights of the Vale.”

“Debt. Ha, more like repayment. And how does he expect you to repay this ‘debt’?”

I suddenly felt my stomach drop as I remembered how Lords were rewarded in the South. 

“I told him as much. But that won’t stop him from trying to get what he thinks he is owed. We can’t worry about that now. Like I said, let me deal with Baelish—” 

I finally looked at the bundle of gray and white fabric in her lap. It looked like a Stark bridal cloak—at least what I imagined one to look like.

_You truly know nothing, Jon Snow. You are a fucking idiot._

“If you think I will let him take you from Winterfell—if you think I will let anyone be with you who does not deserve you—”

“Jon. Gods be good. Trust me to protect us in what little way my womanhood can—”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You aren’t. I already made my choice. When I petitioned Lord Baelish for men, I knew what bargain I was making. And I have no intention in honoring it.’

“So you don’t mean to marry him? As part of your plan to keep him close?”

“Good gods, no. But he doesn’t have to know that.”

“But—

“Jon, aside from the fact that I never wish to marry again, my marriage, specifically my husband and any issue I have, will rival you and your heir’s claim to Winterfell and the North. It would be exactly what Lord Baelish would want. We both can’t marry and have children. It would be the tinder that would ignite a civil war that would destroy what remains of the North. That is why you must marry as soon as possible.”

I slumped in my chair and put my head in my hands. I could feel a headache bloom around my left temple, its steady pulse growing stronger the more I thought about this quagmire of shit we were wading through. 

_She is right. She probably wishes to see me wedded and bedded before I go lead the garrison at the Wall._

_And there is the small matter of who will be my bride. I was never good with girls and Sansa will probably host a small feast to introduce me to all the maids of the North._

_Are King’s allowed not to dance at their own feasts?_

_There is will be time enough to worry about that later. We have a bigger problem in Littlefinger._

“We should divide the Knights of the Vale. A third should come with Lord Royce and me to Moat Cailin, another third with Davos, Tormund, Belmore and Templeman—”

“Templeton.”

“—Templeton, to take the Dreadfort, Karhold, and the Last Hearth on to the Wall. And the ones most loyal to the Starks or who hate Baelish as much as we do, should remain at Winterfell.”

I could see one side of her mouth lift in victory at my strategy. 

“That is a good plan. I will ask Lord Royce to leave his most loyal bannerman here.” 

“What will you do while I am gone?”

“I will be preparing my people for war—and a wedding. Which may as well be a war.”

This time it was my turn to smile. 

____________

I was in the Lord’s solar, trying to piece together what assets we had left when I heard a child screech in the yard. I looked out the window to see wildling children playing a version of monsters and maidens. 

I recognized two of the girls with brown hair. Their mother was at the council at Hardhome. She was wise, fierce and beautiful. She died to give her girls a chance to live.

“Gar, I am going to get ya!” said the oldest as she ran after her sister.

I remembered chasing after Arya like that when we were children, when Lady Catelyn was not watching. My heart ached sweetly at the memory. 

_I hope finds she finds her way home soon.The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Sansa and I can’t be the only ones left. I might be away when Arya comes home. And Sansa will be the one to greet her._

I looked as the sisters in the courtyard. 

“Oh no, I got you. Nom, noom, nooom,” Laughed the older girl as she pulled her little sister into her body and feigned munching on her arm.”

“No, no, no, stooooop!” But the child’s happy yelps told a different story. 

_Arya and Sansa never played like that. They fought like cats and dogs. But you and Sansa were never close, and you have found kinship. Who says Arya and Sansa couldn’t do the same?_

A knock at my door drew me away from the first sweet thing I had seen since I rejoined the living. If I thought I hated the interruption, I found I hated the intruder more. 

“Lord Baelish, how can I help you?”

“Your Grace, we just received a raven from the Dragon Queen.”

__________

A quarter of an hour later, Davos, Lord Baelish and I stood in the Lord’s solar, as Sansa read:

**“To all people of Westeros,**

**I, Daenerys Stormborn, last trueborn heir of King Aerys II of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Lady Paramount of the Crownlands, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, and Khaleesi of the Great Green Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons,**

**Demand that the Usurper, Cersei of House Lannister peacefully relinquish her unlawful crown, titles, lands and gold, and flee the land, or else become acquainted with the words of my house.**

**All houses that oppose me will meet the same fate as the last great kings of the Stormlands, Iron Islands, Reach, Rock, Harren the Black, and the 5,000 men that perished in the Field of Fire—death by fire and blood.**

**But like Aegon before me, all I ask is for you to bend the knee and swear your allegiance to the one true queen of Westeros and see peace and justice restored.”**

Sansa dropped the letter to the table, looked briefly at me then at Littlefinger as he spoke.

“My sources tell me Daenarys is the mother of three dragons, has an army of 8,000 Unsullied, 50,000 mounted Dothraki and a fleet of 100 Ironborn ships. As well as, natural allies in Dorne with 4,500 men and the Tyrells with 6,5000 men. She has the biggest army in the world. Cersei is good as dead,” concluded Lord Baelish.

“As well as the rest of King’s Landing. Cersei will burn the rest of it to the ground rather than give it to this Dragon Queen. May the Gods have mercy on those poor souls,” agreed Sansa.

Hearing Sansa calmly discuss the death of hundreds of thousands of people with Baelish, felt uncanny. It reminded me too much of the night before the battle when we discussed Rickon.

_So this is who taught Sansa the art of war._

“She really has three dragons?” I asked.

“Surely for a man who has seen the Night King, that cannot seem so hard to believe?” replied Lord Baelish with a slight twitch in his cheek.

“If she has three dragons, then we are all dead, not just the people in King’s Landing,” I said. 

“Not necessarily,” replied Littlefinger. 

“So what do you propose we do about this Dragon Queen? Steal her dragons?” Davos asked.

“No, although they would think you a God if did. No, Your Grace may I suggest a more diplomatic path?”

At this, I saw Sansa’s face go blank as her eyes bore into Baelish’s face. I knew that face. That was her face when we went to treat with him. 

_Only a fool trusts Littlefinger._

“By all means, Lord Baelish, tell me how we can stop more innocent people from dying in another pointless war.”

Baelish straightens his shoulders and adjusts his cuff, before addressing his rapt audience. 

“When the Dragon Queen lands and all who will bow to her bow, she will then need to unite the Kingdom. And best way to unite a kingdom after war, is through marriage. And as King in the North, eldest surviving son of one the oldest and most respected houses left in the land, you stand as her equal.”

The stiffening of Sansa’s body mirrored the tightening of my shoulder as Littlefinger’s implications hit home. 

“You would wish me to propose to a conquering Targaryen Queen? Are you mad? Surely, she would rather feed me to her dragons than submit to be a bastard-King’s wife.”

Littlefinger’s lips curled but there was no humor in his eyes. 

_Maybe this is his plan—for me to become a dragon’s supper. I am sure he would pay a lot of money to watch._

“You misunderstand me, Your Grace. It would be you bowing the knee and submitting to be her royal consort. She is a conquering Targaryen with three dragons and the largest army in the world, after all. You would be a prince instead of a king, a minor distinction that will mean all the difference to the lives of the people you would save—in the north and south—through your union.”

_He makes a fair point. But it can’t be that simple._

I scrambled to find another question to cover my shock at Littlefinger’s proposal. “Surely there are other lords who she would find more desirable?”

“Five years ago perhaps, but all the male heirs of all the powerful houses are dead, tarnished or otherwise unfit to rule. Bastard-king or not, you are the only man left standing that has the power, blood and prestige to be considered her equal.”

I fought the urge to gape at him. _Baelish thinks me unfit to rule the North, and now he wants me to believe I am the equal to a trueborn Targaryen? Go jump the Wall, Littlefinger._

“And what of the Night King’s army?” I said with a flourish of my burnt hand. “You would have me abandon my post, in order to woo, wed and bed this Targaryen Queen? No.Thank you, Lord Baelish for the suggestion, but my duty is to the people in the North. If this Queen wants an Iron chair, she can have it.”

Baelish tilted his head, pursed his lips in a moue of displeasure at my retort. There was a heat in his eyes when he responded. 

“So your concern for southern Westorosi lives were just empty words? You would abandon the rest of the Kingdom to dragon fire because of your duty to this wasteland? Will you not even treat with her? That is also part of your duty as King in the North to negotiate treaties with other sovereigns,” he finished with a smirk.

It felt like my shoulders had climbed to my ears and my nails were biting into my palms from restraint. Before I could open my mouth, Davos spoke. 

“I would you remind you, sir, that you are speaking the King and are his guest.” He retorted indignantly. “Anyway, as it stands Queen Cersei is still the ruler of the realm, is it not premature to declare for this Dragon Queen before we know what unfolds in King’s Landing?”

Sansa’s firm voice interjected and stalled the tension in the room. 

“Sir Davos, I am more than confident in Cersei’s ability to guarantee her own ruin. Although it seems a bit unfair to Aegon, to call this Daenerys "Aegon the Conquerer Reborn" considering there is little power left to oppose her.”

Littlefinger looked over at Sansa with a slight smirk on his lips from Sansa’s joke. Sansa tilted up her chin and gave him a slight smile in return. 

_Only a fool trusts Littlefinger._

“So you agree with Lord Baelish, Sansa? I should treat with the Dragon Queen and extend an offer of marriage?” I tried to mute my surprise at the disconnect between her body and her words. Surely she can’t mean it, not after all we discussed prior to this. 

_Sansa is no fool._

She gave me a looked that was hard to read, as though she knew she could not speak her mind freely, “If, as you say, fire is the only way to kill the undead, we cannot afford to snub her, Jon. And if you become consort to the Queen, there will be no need to steal her dragons, you will have access to them by right. It would be wise to treat with her if only to get a measure of our new Queen.”

_She is right. And I promised I would listen to her._

All the same, I couldn’t help feel defeated when Sansa sided with Baelish. But I remembered her face at the beginning of the council—she does not trust him, and I trust that. _There must be something else she has not told me._

I turned to Lord Baelish, “You are right. At the very least I should treat with her. Where and when should we expect is this Queen to land?”

I did not miss the glint of triumph in Baelish’s eyes before he donned his bland courtier's mask. 

___________

“It’s a trap.”

I knew who spoke before I even turned around. Sansa stood in the corner of the Lord’s Solar across from the fire. Most of her face was hidden by the shadows. The air in the room was familiar. _We are going to fight again._

Instead of debating her about my ability to beat Baelish at his game of thrones, I just slumped my shoulders in concession.

“Aye. And what would you have me do, Sansa?”

“Don’t do what Baelish tells you to do.”

“Aye. Is that all? Glad to hear it. I didn’t want to marry a Dragon Queen anyway.”

_We have had this conversation before._

To her credit, she did not storm out and call me a fool. Although I could see the impulse in her face. _She can’t leave. Her fate is your fate—whether she likes it or not._

Instead, she purses her lips like Septa Mordane used to do before a scolding. 

“Do you remember before the battle when we met with Lord Glover?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you remember what he said about Robb?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He got himself and everyone else who followed him killed.”

“Yes, but why was he killed?”

“How the hell I am supposed to know the will of the Gods?” I said flippantly.

“‘Taking up with a foreign whore’, is how Lord Glover said it. The North has declared Independence by naming you King. How do you think they will reward that King if he marries not only a Targaryen but the last child of the Mad King who killed our grandfather and uncle and started a war that killed hundreds of Northmen? Death by stabbing is a kindness to what they will do to you and this Dragon Queen, should you marry. You will destroy what is left of the North and our house.”

I opened my mouth to rebut Sansa’s words, but her logic closed it again. What am I to say, “There have been more tenuous alliances that have united a Kingdom?” _I don’t even know if that is true. It sounds more like a song._

I leaned my hands on the table in defeat. 

“Baelish wants me dead—we know this—and a marriage alliance with the Targaryen Queen will be the spark to force the North will renounce me, and declare for you. That is the trap, yes?” I bit out.

Sansa walked out of the shadows, with a slight smile on her face that reached her eyes and stood across from me. _Ah, so I am not such a disappointment after all._

“Yes. But Lord Baelish was right on one point; you need to treat with this Dragon Queen after retaking Moat Cailin. Know that she will view you as a threat. Our family fought and destroyed her family in Robert’s rebellion. And if she chooses to give you the time of day, she may try to force a marriage alliance. 

“But don’t accept it, even at the threat of war, because if you accept we are good as dead anyway. The North is not going to give up its Independence until it has to—regardless if it is in its best interest or not. So until she rides North and makes us an offer we can’t refuse, we owe her nothing.”

I straightened my spine and met her gaze as I spoke, “So you will have me meet with her for what purpose if not marriage?”

She wetted her lips before continuing. 

“She will be landing at Dragonstone, yes? Ask her for this, this—,” paused waving her hand as if moving it would conjure the word. 

“—dragonglass?”

“Yes, dragonglass and ask for her help against the White Walkers. Shame her into acting as the protector of the realm—not just another pretender. She is the one that needs to curry our good favor.”

“That is your plan? Be obstinate and offer nothing?”

Sansa huffed in annoyance, “We offer not to march against her. Considering our family history and that we rule the North and have alliances with the Vale, the Reach—half of Westeros!—that is concession enough. If she is smart she will realize she needs allies more than she needs to settle old scores.”

I felt myself nodding my head to Sansa's arguement.

_Dragons don’t alter geography. Her army will have a hell of a time taking us from the South—just like the Mad Queen._

“Mhmm. And this Dragon Queen will have the same problem as Cersei getting her army past the Moat Cailin in winter with a Southern army, although the Ironborn fleet may try to retake it again,” I concluded. 

“Exactly!” She said with a wave of her hands. “She is not unstoppable as she seems. Even dragons can be killed. The Targaryen civil wars are a testament to that.” 

From what I remembered from my lessons, other dragons and a well-aimed spear to the eye were the only ways kill a dragon.

_Thus why Aegon Targaryen took Westeros—because no one could stop him. And they ruled through fear ever since. Westeros doesn’t need another Targaryen dynasty._

“We can only hope. I haven’t even met her and I dislike her. By what right does she have to kill more innocent people over a country and crown she has never seen? For a people she does not know or love? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“Jon, you know she lays claim to Westeros by right by conquest, just like Aegon.”

“A law that was written by a conqueror to justify tranny—how just,” I spat.

_What if kings were chosen by their people, instead of whose womb bore them—maybe there would be more peace. No man deserves the right to a crown through blood or bloodshed. Authority should be given by the governed—like in the Watch._

_You truly know nothing Jon._

“I don’t trust her either. And conquerors and king create the laws but are never judged them—you and I both know that is the world we live in. It doesn’t matter if her claim is just—we need her dragons. So we will dance with the dragon until we can out maneuver her. 

“You should go in my stead. You were always the better dancer. ”

Her cheek twitched at my poor jest. 

“That would be considered an insult. I am not the King in the North, and I am not in a position to speak for it.”

_Of course. But do you wish to be?_

“You could never bring shame to the North. But as you like.”

“It is good of you to think so. Whether it is true—,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders. “But it may become true—in time. Goodnight Jon. Sleep well.”

___________

Davos found me the next morning in the Lord’s solar. 

“So, have you made a decision regarding this Dragon Queen?”

“Aye. Close the door.”

Once the door was latched I continued. "And I had decided against eh—proposing an alliance.”

Davos nodded his head in approval. “Do you plan on meeting her at least?”

“Yes. And that is going to require changing some of our plans.”

“I expected as much.”

“I will need you come with me to Moat Cailin and later to Dragonstone instead of going North. Tormound, Lyanna Mormont and a third of the Vale Knights will retake the Dreadfort, Karhold and the Last Hearth. They will then escort those who surrender to the Wall. 

“Lord Royce and another third of the Knights will march with us to retake Moat Cailin. And then we will make our way to the White Harbor and sail to Dragonstone.”

“What about Littlefinger?”

“The last third of the Knights, who are most loyal to Sansa and the Starks will remain at Winterfell.”

“Mhmm. Do we know when Lady Brienne will return?”

“In a moon or so.”

“So Lady Sansa will not have a personal guard while she remains here with Littlefinger?”

“I will be leaving Ghost.”

“That is better than nothing. I just feel uneasy about leaving her with him, even if she has the loyalty of the Knights of the Vale.”

_I do too. But I said I would trust her._

“Mhmm. Sansa survived three years as a hostage in a Lion’s den. I think she can survive three moons with Littlefinger.”

_She is not the one he wants dead anyway._

__________

It was the night before we were set to depart and my dreams were keeping from sleep. It was the same dream of Lyanna’s statue telling me I am not a Stark.

_Funny, old Nan used to say all dreams have meaning. She even spoke of people who dreamt of the future and the past—Greenseers she called them. There is no secret in this dream, Nan. It is an old dream born of shame and envy._

It was an hour or two before the gray light of dawn would wake up the other men. I knew I wouldn’t get anymore more sleep that night. In a fit of restlessness, I grabbed my clothes and got dressed. 

_Maybe if I met Lyanna in the crypt she will leave me alone._

It was a stupid but harmless idea that gave me a reason to get out of my room. 

I allowed Ghost to follow me down into the crypts. While I knew I would only find ordinary darkness, something beyond logic couldn’t stop me from feeling anxious about what I would find in the hall of Winter Kings. 

Sooner than expected, my feet had carried me to her statue. For the first time in my life, I lit the candles for her—like I had seen father do. 

As I stared into her eye stone features, I realized for a person so cherished by my father, he never spoke of her.

_You didn’t speak much of Arya, Bran or Robb when you thought them gone—even to Sam. That didn’t mean you stopped thinking about them. You have no place to fault him._

I only know that she was stolen by Rhaegar Targaryen and died during Robert’s rebellion. 

_Died from what though? Fever, I think? That is a strange way to die for a woman said to be as wild and bold as Arya._

_But is it really so strange Jon?_

_We never thought Bran could fall, and but he fell all the same. Our strengths can be our greatest weaknesses. You should know this better than most._

“Why do you stalk my dreams? I know my place. I am a Snow. I will always be a Snow. ”

I should have felt like a mad man addressing a stone statue, but I didn’t care. She was silent. 

But I stood and watched as the flame swayed to the whispers of the crypt and slowly ate the pillar of wax beneath it. Since sleep escaped me and the stone woman did not answer me, I allowed myself a moment to remember all my dead. 

_Father. Robb. Ygritte. Joer Mormont. Mance. Grenn. Pyp. Qhorin. Maester Aemon. Rickon. Olly._

Thinking of Olly caused my heart to hitch. _I cared for him more than a steward. I cared for him as I would have a son. And he still stabbed me in the heart._

I wanted to forgive him, because I understood why he did it. But forgiveness felt so close and yet too far to grant. 

_The dead do not need your forgiveness._

Maybe. But I wanted to forgive if only for the illusion of peace it offered. 

_What of Lady Catelyn? Can you forgive her? Now that is she is gone?_

_Aye, but if only she could ever forgive me for taking what is not mine._

I smirked at the absurdity of the thought. 

_She would rather see me hang, I imagine._

I was roused from my musings when Ghost suddenly stood with his hackles raised. I turned my head I as I heard footsteps approach. Before for I could call out to ask who was there, the intruder spoke. 

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, _Your Grace._ You Starks are a such a morbid lot. With such forbidding words, I imagine dourness it is a prerequisite to Starkness—more so than blood—it seems.”

_Why can’t I have one fucking moment of peace? Damn him._

I took a depth breath through my nose before I spoke. 

_If Sansa is risking everything to play his game, I owe it to her to kept my head._

“Lord Baelish” I bit out. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to speak to you about Lady Sansa.”

I feared I my back molars would crack with how hard I clenched my jaw. 

“What about her?”

“You obviously care for her a great deal, which is—curious—since I understand you were never _close_ as children.”

He made my love for Sansa sound vulgar. As though I paid her too much regard and had somehow breached propriety. 

_How is possible to care for your kin too much? If anything I have not loved her enough._

“Your point?”

“We both know you are not the true heir—that Lady Catelyn would have your head for daring rule instead of her own blood.”

“Aye, you are probably right.”

_Although your head would probably sit next to mine._

“If you won’t marry the Dragon Queen for the sake of the North or even Westeros—I ask that you do it for Sansa’s sake.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised he would use Sansa as leverage in his plot, but I could only think to ask for clarification.

“Pardon me?”

“What do you imagine will happen to her if you stay here and marry some Northern girl? Once you have a few wolf pups, Sansa’s bloom and power will have faded and she will have no purpose but to be auntie to your children. Do you really wish such as dull life for Sansa, after everything she has been through? 

“Or what if your wife is jealous of Sansa’s beauty and the power she has over your court? And Sansa decides she is bored of watching you and your petty wife rule in her place and decides to marry? Her husband and children—your nephews—will automatically become your rivals. You may very well spend the last of your days as King in the North mounting a war against your family.

Littlefinger’s vision of the Sansa’s future filled my mind and blindsided me into silence. If Sansa had not already foreseen this future and planned against it, I am ashamed to think what I would have done. 

_Will my marriage damn her to such a sad fate? He is right. Her talents will be wasted if she only is an auntie to my children. She was meant to be Queen._

He continued, “But!—but if you marry Queen Daenerys, your court will be in the South with her. Your children will be heirs to the Iron Throne. You can appoint Sansa as Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell and her children will carry on the Stark line—as is her birthright.”

_It is for Sansa’s sake I will deny Daenerys if she asks. We have already discussed it._

I shook his false prophecy from my mind and turned to look at Littlefinger. I walked up to him until I could smell his cool breath. 

“You don’t like me and I don’t like you. There is no point denying it. You sold Sansa to the Boltons,” I said with open contempt. “But you rallied the Knights of the Vale to her side when she needed it, so I believe you do value her alive and whole—for the most part.”

I cut Littlefinger off before he could defend himself. 

“And you are right. Presenting a marriage alliance to Daenerys Targaryen is smart. It will solve many of our problems.”

At this concession, Littlefinger’s eyebrows crowded in confusion. 

“So you do plan to broker a marriage alliance with her?”

_Not in the slightest. Robb lost his war in marriage, not on the battlefield. ‘Taking up with a foreign whore and getting him and all that followed him killed.’ We can’t afford to make his mistakes._

“Yes. I can recognize it a good idea, even if I don’t fully trust the source.”

“You flatter me, your Grace.”

We both knew it wasn’t flattery. 

“You are a _funny man._ For your sake Lord Baelish, I hope your loyalty to Sansa lasts longer than it did for the Lannisters. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see your head on a spike.”

At that Littlefinger emitted a queer little chuckle that seemed to escape from him against his will. 

“Oh, is that funny?”

“You are _Ned Stark’s_ bastard,” he said putting on an odd dip of disdain on 'Ned Stark' rather than 'bastard', that pulled my lip in contempt.

_Strange, I thought he despised me because I was a bastard, like everyone else. Instead, I think he hates me because I am Ned Stark’s son and there is no Tully blood to redeem me._

Before I can respond, he continues, “You have little to fear from me in regards to Sansa. If the past is any guide, she is safer _with me_ than with _anyone_ else. Safe travels, Your Grace.”

A wave of shame and fury balled my hands into fists at his parting taunt. 

I waited until I couldn’t hear his footsteps, then I allowed myself to growl in rage as I picked a good sized rock and chucked it past Lady Lyanna’s statue, “Ngahh.”

The rock hit the back of the crypt with a hollow thud. I picked up another rock and threw it. And heard the same empty sound. Then another. 

_There is something behind that wall._

__________

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. Feedback is fuel.


	5. Our Best Laid Plans — Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering Littlefinger's plots—past and present—sends Sansa's world spinning.

I shoveled snow into my mouth and forced myself to breathe through the icy sting that hit my tongue. When the vomit taste was gone, I covered my mess with the freshly fallen snow and sat like a child on the ground with my legs sprawled in front of me. 

I forced myself to take deep measured breaths until my heart no longer rattled my ribs. 

_Petyr betrayed my mother. Petyr betrayed my father. He killed them. They were in the way of what he wanted—me. I am still that stupid girl with stupid dreams that never learns._

I choked on a sudden sob at the thought and tears spilled down my cheeks. 

_And I let him believe I want my only kin dead._

I buried my face in my elbow and screamed silently into the padding of my arm. 

_I am the fool to think I could out play Littlefinger._

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop my tears and I wiped the wetness on my sleeve. 

I breathed deeply through my nose. And watched my exhale fog. And I breathed in again, and out. In. Out. With each breath, I pulled my mind back from the cutting edge of despair. 

_I can’t fall apart now. If mother can fight a war after losing father, I can too. I was the fool that started this so I must end it. I have to. There is no other way._

I don’t know how long I sat there with my breath as my only tether to sanity. But when I noticed that the hem of my gown was dark with water, I pushed myself on my knees and got up off the ground without tripping on my wet skirt. 

_I need to change, or I am going catch a fever._

Not that I could feel the icy wetness leeching warmth from my skin—I could hardly feel my body at all. But reason hadn’t completely escaped me and I knew I needed to return to the keep. 

_I can’t die yet. Not unless he dies with me._

\----------

I tried to sneak my way through the kitchen’s, but the cold made me clumsy as well as numb and Bessy, the cook, caught me before I could get very far.

“My Lady, you are soaked. Where is your cloak? You may be a Stark, but you will still freeze in the cold like the rest of us.” she gently scolded me. 

_She is acting too familiar with me. I should remind her—_

But I was too tired, too numb, to reprimand her. And I don’t know if even I wanted to. It had been too long since someone genuinely cared about my well-being. I wanted to be— _mothered_.

_Petyr is the reason you no longer have a mother._

I sagged slightly against her at the thought. The wool blanket she wrapped me in itched and she had a maid escort me to my rooms. I don’t remember the walk to my rooms as I suddenly felt the girl tugging at the laces of my soaked gown. I heard it fall to floor with a wet swoosh. 

Bessy came into my room with a pitcher of hot mulled wine. She cupped my cheek and clucked her tongue, before pouring me a cup and telling me to drink. 

Ever the obedient child, I dutifully brought the cup to my lips and drank. As I felt the warm tartness pass my tongue my mind wandered to another wine-bibber. 

_I wonder if Cersei liked the mulled wine when she came to the North._

Probably not. It is too tart. 

_You didn’t like it either when you sipped it at during feasts at Winterfell._

I huffed at myself at the thought. 

_You liked the stupidest of things, sweet things, easy things._

Little did I know that nothing of value in life is sweet or easy. _You were an idiot._

It is hard for me not to hate the girl I was—the stupid girl I still feel like I am. 

_You invited a traitor into your home after all._

I took another drink of wine at the reminder, before stepping into the wool dress that I was changing into. I now found that I preferred the tartness and spice of the Northern wine. It seemed more honest than sweetness. 

_If I never eat another lemon cake again it will be too soon._

I dismissed the girl after she finished lacing me and I poured myself another cup. I didn’t drink when I was at Winterfell last, but of all the sensations of returning home, spiced wine welcomes me most. I start to finally feel warmer and lighter—saner. 

_Maybe that is why Cersei drank—to chase away her demons. I don’t think it worked._

I made my way to the lord's solar once more, to sit by the fire. As I stared into the fire, I allowed myself space to rationally think about what I learned about Littlefinger that afternoon. The wine had numbed my terror, but it did not inspire genius. 

I didn’t know what to do, other to play the parts that I have already cast myself: Petyr’s pawn and Jon’s spy. 

_I only know one thing for certain: I can’t tell Jon about father. Not yet. Not until I have proof._

My stomach rolled at the thought of hiding another truth from Jon. His words ringing in my mind, “We need to trust each other.”

_I can’t tell him. He will try to be the hero, like with Rickon. That is a risk I can’t let him take—not with Littlefinger._

I closed my eyes and prayed that someday Jon will understand my shame and why it silenced me. 

_I don’t want to lie, not to him. Not to anyone. But I can be that stupid girl anymore._

I took another sip and allowed the warmth of the fire and the wine to numb my nerves. I allowed my mind to wander as I watched the flames dance. 

I felt Jon before I could see him. 

_Speak of the Stranger._

“I thought you were done with sulking in a corner, Jon Snow.”

\----------

I invited Lord Royce to my chamber a couple days after the hunt. Jon and I had agreed, among other things, that we needed to divide the Knights of the Vale, so that Littlefinger would not have the power to overrun Winterfell when he went South. 

“Thank you, Lord Royce, for being so kind to join me.”

“Of course my lady.”

“I understand that you have been invited to Jon’s war council’s and you have been generous enough to continue to lend the Knights of the Vale to the task of ridding the North of the Boltons.”

Royce nodded. 

“And I wish to thank you for your continued aid. We are in your debt.”

“It is our duty as allies against the Lannisters and friends of the Starks. It is my greatest shame that we were not there for Robb.”

“You are here now, that is all that matters. But I wonder, Lord Royce, if all your men share your devotion.”

Lord Royce puffed out his chest in annoyed pride. 

“Do you have reason doubt they devotion of my men?”

 _Good gods, yes, you dear man or I wouldn’t have asked._

“I can’t speak for the devotion of all your men, sir. But I know of two who are in the employ of Lord Baelish and should be removed from Winterfell.”

“Who?”

“Lord Templeton and Captain Belmore.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t like them, sure, but they are good soldiers. How do you know they are Littlefinger’s men?”

“He told me himself.”

“Why would he tell a gir—ah—a lady of his plans? He is devoted to you, I will give him that, but I wouldn’t believe everything he tells you.”

I clenched my jaw at his tone. 

_I don’t, you ponderous oaf._

I wanted to stamp my foot and rage at his stupidity. But I knew he would think me even more of a child. 

_I saved your life, you idiot! Not that you would believe me if I told you._

But I breathed in through my nose and smiled at him gently. 

“It better to be safe than sorry, don’t you think? I don’t feel comfortable with them here with me. Or with Jon or yourself when you go South, for that matter. Can’t you assign them to the Mormont party to take the Bolton men to the Wall. Please, it would help me feel safe, Lord Royce. After everything—”

I saw Lord Royce’s eye go wide at the allusion of the Bolton bastard and what everyone knew he did to me, and he hastily cut me off. 

“You deserve to feel safe in your own home my lady. And maybe couple months in the far North will coax them to rethink their loyalty to Lord Baelish. Ha. I will inform them of their change of duties before we leave.”

Obviously uncomfortable with my evocation of trauma, I noticed Lord Royce preparing to move from his seat. 

“Before you go my Lord, I have another request to ask of you.”

“Anything, my lady.”

“Think me silly, but I am worried about what Baelish will do when you and Jon leave.”

“As you should,” he agreed. 

“Yes, so you will understand why I must ask you leave only your most loyal bannermen here? Whether it be 100 or 10, they must be loyal or I will have none at all.”

“Of course, my lady. I understand,” said Lord Royce with a slight impatience in his voice. 

_He thinks I am overreacting._

“Lord Royce, these men can’t have vices that Lord Baelish can exploit. I need men who don’t have debts, mistresses or who like the eh—company of—eh—small children.” 

“Lady Sansa!”

“Lord Royce. It’s sweet that you would not have me know of these things, but I am not an innocent anymore.”

“The more sorry I am for it. I am sorry you should know such things, that Lord Baelish, the worm that he is, exposed you such things. It is not what your father would have wanted.”

_There are many things that father would not have wanted._

“Yes, ah—thank you,” I cleared my throat ridding it of the tremor created by thinking of my father. “Regarding your men, Lord Royce. I only want your most honorable Knights to remain with me. Baseborn, lowborn or highborn, I don’t care, all I care about is that they are loyal to you and to House Stark.”

“I understand my lady. I think I know just the men.”

“I would like a full list before you leave with names, houses, and histories before you go south. And I would like to meet the captains before you go as well.”

“Very well, my lady. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, Lord Royce. Thank you for humoring me in this. This is something my father would have wanted—his daughter guarded by men he could trust. 

\----------

“Lord Royce tells me that Jon plans to meet Queen Daenerys at Dragonstone after retaking Moat Cailin.”

I rolled my eyes at Littlefinger’s predictability. He found me in my solar, to talk about Jon and the letter we received from Queen Daenarys. 

“And when I asked Lord Oaf if he knew what Jon’s intentions were with the Queen, he told me it was none of my business. But considering it was my idea, it is very much my business. What are his true thoughts regarding this marriage alliance?” 

I repressed the urge to squirm in my chair. I heard Baelish walk from behind me to sit in the chair across from me by the fire. 

“He is not against it, but he does not know if it will be the best way to stabilize the North. He knows the Starks history with the Targaryens just as well as I, and that gives him pause.”

“But that is why it is why it is such a good match. The history is there yes, but the King and Daenerys were not players in that tragedy. A marriage between them could been seen as binding the old wound between your families and fulfilling the original promise given to Torrhen Stark. 

“And I told him as much, but Jon is hesitant to marry the North to the whims of a Targaryen—especially a Targaryen he has not met. But I believe if he finds her to be of sound mind and body, and willing to grant Northern Independence, he will be open to the match.”

Lord Baelish fails to fully to disguise his snort of laughter as a cough. “Honor makes men such predictable fools. If he will let the North burn for the poppy dream that is Northern Independence then he doesn’t deserve to be King.”

I suddenly felt my grasp of Petyr’s plot slipping. I dropped my sewing into my lap and tried to keep my breathing steady as I felt my heart start to race.

“The North stood alone for thousands of ye—”

“Yes, yes, and the Starks used to be the Kings of Winter. But you’re not anymore, not since Torrhen knelt and you won’t be ever again. Your house is a ruin, your King is a bastard and now Aegon has been reborn with tits and sits in Dragonstone with her three dragons planning her invasion.”

He continues before I can interject. 

“If I were a Targaryen Queen with three dragons, I know I would not grant any of the seven kingdoms independence, least of all the North. She cannot afford to. To grant independence to your rival as an invading force not only shows weakness but sets a dangerous precedent.”

_He is not wrong. If you are going to invade with force, you have to maintain your loyalties by force. What does this have to do with Jon?_

I lick my lips before speaking, “Surely you don’t truly expect him to kneel so soon after being crowned.”

“No, I don’t,” Baelish says with a satisfied curl to his lip. “He has already died for the North once—if the wildings stories can be believed—I fully expect him to die for it again.”

My stomach twists at how casually he declares Jon dead. 

“You think Jon won’t return once he goes South.”

My stomach dropped with the realization Littlefinger’s trap rested on a different outcome than what Jon and I discussed. Lord Baelish didn’t want Jon to marry at all—in fact he was betting on Jon refusing Queen Targaryen on the grounds of Northern Independence and her burning him for it. 

_He wants the Queen to do the dirty work for him._

While I had counseled Jon against the marriage on the grounds that the North would reject such a union because they would rather die than kneel to another Targaryen. If he married her he would shortly find himself stabbed by his own bannermen. 

_But Petyr does not know the North well enough to know that an alliance with a Targaryen—the last child of the Mad King—at this moment would ignite a civil war. He thinks the alliance is the smart choice and he counting on Jon to be a “fool” to refuse it._

Petyr was betting that the Queen is a vicious unforgiving woman, while I was betting that she could be reasoned with. Both our plots rested on the capriciousness of a Queen, who neither of us knew. 

_And we are both fools for it._

I had to bite back a laugh at the irony of not following my advice that I had so righteously given Jon. 

_I have drawn battle plans against a foe I don’t know._

And having known Kings and Queens, I knew Lord Baelish’s bet was the safer one—the surer outcome. 

_Shit._

“You know he cannot,” Baelish continued his lingering look mistaking my bitter smile for mirth at his plan. “I am glad to see you are pleased to see him leave. The bastard never should have had a place at Winterfell. Your oh-so-honorable father shamed your mother by raising his by-blow with his trueborn children. We are doing what she could not, what Lord Eddard was too soft to do.”

_If Jon dies because of this, it will be my fault. Just like it was with father._

“And what if Jon should surprise us both and listen to my advice and agree to a marriage alliance with Queen Daenerys? What will it be: poison or knife?”

“Pardon?”

“At his wedding—how will you have him die? Is that not how Kings die—at weddings?”

Baelish laughed, “I think that would be too on the nose, don’t you? The novelty is gone now. If you dispose of your enemies the same way, your pattern will damn you. Besides, we both know he won’t bend the knee. We will let the King’s honor be his own undoing. 

I nodded my head and swallowed my heart before it betrayed me. I didn’t know what to say, except what I knew he wanted to hear. 

“Jon is too trusting for his own good—he is like my father in that way,” I responded, trying to keep my bitterness from poisoning my smile or my tone. “It was his undoing.” 

I scanned Littlefinger's face for any trace of his betrayal. 

He nodded and smiled softly in agreement and pushed himself from the chair and walked towards me. 

Baelish caressed my cheek, “We make a formidable team, my lady.”

I didn’t flinch at his touch, barely, but my nails bit my palms. 

“Mhmm,” I hummed non-committedly and gazed up at Baelish, with what I hoped he would interpret as longing. “Sleep well, Lord Baelish.”

\--------

I woke to a dark room. My fire had burned to embers. But I saw two red points of light in the corner of my room. 

The hair on my arms tingled. 

They were eyes. 

I tried to move, but my body didn’t respond. I tried moving harder—nothing. I was trapped in my mind. My body was as good as dead to me. 

My heart hammered in my chest.

The eyes stalked closer and I saw it take the form of a man. 

I tried to scream, but my mouth would not open—like it had been sewn shut. 

_Am I dead? Is this one of the seven hells?_

The man moved until he stood over me. I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I just looked at the demon that towered above me. 

It spoke, “I am part you, my clever girl.”

_No. No. No._

I closed my eyes at the sight of him, it was the only defense that I had. Then I felt a weight on my chest like someone placed a boulder over my heart. 

I couldn’t breathe. But I did not look. I could not look. I knew I would lose my mind at the sight.

_This is not real. He is not real. Breathe._

I forced myself to breathe through my terror. 

_In. Out. In. Out. In. Out._

I don’t know how long I lay there trapped with my breath as my only sanity, but slowly the weight lifted. 

But I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t attempt to move. 

_This is only a dream. This is not real. You will wake up. Your maid will wake you up. Breathe._

In. Out. In. Out. 

Instead, I woke to the sound of the courtyard, but I didn’t open my eyes. I first attempted to move my legs. When I felt the sensation of the fur rubbing against my calves, I opened my eyes. 

The room was still dark, but a wisp of pale light could be seen through my window. 

I looked around the room. The creature was gone. I sighed deeply into my pillow with relief until I remembered what day it was. 

_Jon is going south today._

My heart clenched. I no longer felt safe in our plan. I spent the past week thinking about it after my conversation with Petyr. The more I thought, the more knew that Jon must meet her—that our plan was the only one available to us. But that didn’t stop my anxiety from growing each day. 

_Our fate rests in the hands of this foreign conqueror Queen._

The thought knotted my stomach. All I can think about is what happened to the last Starks who demanded anything from a Targaryen King. 

_If Petyr is right, I will never see him again._

But I knew I couldn’t ask him to stay. Not now. We need the dragonglass. We need her dragons. We need a truce at the very least and Jon needs to remain King in the North. 

I closed my eyes and groaned into the pillow. It felt like a riddle that I didn’t know how to solve. 

The only answer I could find was the answer that Jon and I have already agreed to. 

_If you are wrong Sansa, you will be the last Stark; the lone wolf that died alone._

The sounds in the yard grew louder. I knew that I must get up and get ready. When I pulled myself up, my pillow it was damp with tears. 

_I need to say goodbye._

I closed my eyes at the thought and took a steadying breath to stop the tears that threatened to fall again. 

_He must go. It is his duty. And it is your duty to rule in his stead. Give him the honor of seeing you strong as stone and as beautiful and dangerous as ice. Not this girl paralyzed by a shadow in her dreams._

I finally stood up. And walked towards the window in looked into the courtyard, looking for his black mop of hair. I didn’t see it anywhere.

_Where is Jon? I won’t make the same mistake as I did last time._

I heard a knocked on the door. And I smiled, believing I had summoned him with my thoughts as I seemed to do in so many times past. 

_Jon has come to say goodbye._

I turned, to greet him, but my smile faded when I saw that is was only the maid.

__________

I nearly ran from my chambers in my haste to find Jon. When I could not find him in his rooms or the Lord’s solar, I walked into the courtyard looking for Davos or Tormund. 

_Surely they must know where he is. If they do not they are piss poor advisors._

I knew my thoughts were unworthy of me, and them, but I couldn’t bring myself to care at the moment. 

“Tormund, have you seen Jon?”

“I have not my lady. But he can’t have gone far. Jon is many things, but he is not a coward.”

I must have made a gruesome face, for Tormund's eyebrows to bunch in concern. 

“Have you checked the Godswood my lady?”

_Of course. He is Ned’s son, he would pray before a journey._

I smiled at Tormund and thanked him, before heading toward the Godswood. 

“Jon. Jon. Jon!”

I sighed in relief when I spotted his dark figure under the wierwood. He was kneeling with his sword thrust in the ground before him. 

I suddenly felt like an intruder in a way I never had before in these woods, when I realized he was praying. I hoped the gods listened. 

Before I could approach anymore, he stood up and returned his sword to its scabbard. I started to walk towards him again, but when he turned towards me his face stopped me. 

His eyes were red and dull and his shoulders were slumped like a man beaten. 

“Jon.”

He lips twitched in a shy smile that barely met his eyes. 

“Sansa.”

“Jon, what is wrong?”

Jon looked away from me. I walked closer until I was near enough to touch him. 

“Jon, if you are afraid, you are smart to be. The last time a Stark pleaded for help from a Targaryen, they did not return. There is no shame is fear.”

Jon huffed a mirthless laugh, “I know the story just as well as you.”

He still did not turn toward me. So I pulled his hand into mine and pulled him to face me. He finally looked at me. He was ashen and there were circles under his eyes. 

_Something is wrong. This is not fear. This is beyond fear. He has the look of despair._

No knowing what to say to comfort him, instead, I licked my lips and opened my mouth to say what I intended to say from the beginning. 

“Jon. Please be careful. Promise me you will not play the hero. Promise me that you will run at the first sign of danger. Promise me you will not provoke her to a fight that we can’t win. Promise me.”

_—that you will return._

_Sansa, you know that is a promise that he cannot keep._

He nodded and tried to look away from me.

I followed his head forcing him to keep my gaze.

“Say it. Promise me that you will follow my counsel regarding the Queen.”

“I swear it, Sansa,” he bit out tiredly. 

I didn’t let go of his hand. 

“Good. Targaryen’s can’t be trusted—not with Stark lives, not with the North, not with the Iron Throne.”

A shadow passed over his face and he pulled his hands roughly from mine and moved out of my reach. 

_Jon. No, please._

“What is wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“This is not nothing,” I said waving my hand at the distance he created between us. 

Jon did not respond to my accusation. 

I felt tears gather at the corners of my eyes. 

_This is not how we are supposed to part. We can’t part like this. Not when there is a chance he won’t come back._

_You ruin everything Sansa._

“Jon. Please, tell me what is wrong. Did I do something?”

Jon turned around and a dumbfounded look on his face. 

“No, of course not.”

“What else am I supposed to think? I came looking for you because I wanted to give you a proper goodbye, like a good sister. I am supposed to hug you and implore you to return unharmed, but you can hardly look at me. What is it!”

Jon sighed deeply and met my gaze. 

“Sansa, I am not a Stark. I can never be a Stark. I have no claim to Winterfell. I was wrongfully declared King. I am a—I am a bastard. Lady Catelyn was right about me; I am a stain on house Stark.”

The fresh ache in his voice over such an old wound surprised me. 

_His bastardy is an old shame and one that he has transcended. He is King in the bloody North by gods._

“I don’t understand. The Northern lords know you are a bastard but declared you King anyway. It didn’t matter to them, and it doesn’t matter to me—not anymore. You are a Stark. And you have yet to bring dishonor to our name.”

Jon closed his eyes if what I said pained him. 

I crossed over to Jon and stood close to him. 

“Sansa, you don’t understand—”

“Then enlighten me!”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He shook his head, took a breath and finally spoke, “Aye, I am afraid of meeting this Dragon Queen, of not returning. But what scares me more is returning and not—and not being welcome.”

My eyebrows knitted together is confusion. 

“Wait, do you mean to bend the knee—”

“No, I would never—”

“Do you mean to propose—"

“No!”

“Then I don’t see why you fear for your welcome in your own home—in your own court.”

He huffed and didn’t reply. 

_Good gods, he sulks just like Sweet Robin._

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. 

_Childishness aside, he is all I have left and I am all that is left to him—the sister that never cared much for him at all._

The irony that I was the only one left who could tell him he was loved was not lost on me. 

I grabbed his hand and forced him to look at me,”Whatever has happened, whatever dream has shaken you, it doesn’t change anything. You are the blood Winterfell! If you weren’t Eddard Stark son by blood, then you are his son by character and reputation—everyone says so. He would be proud of you.”

Jon's eyes shone brightly, but he did not interrupt me.

“I know I was never a true sister to you—before. But you will always be my family. I would never abandon you for anything, I swear it.”

At that, he turned away and looked up at the red leaves of the Weirwood tree and blinked furiously at the gray light of the morning. 

“Sansa—”

“Your Grace and my lady, I am glad to finally find you at last. The men are ready to move out when you are,” called Davos. 

If Davos interruption startled Jon, he did not show it. He merely nodded and straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders. His face, while still pale, no longer looked distressed; it was his “Lord” face.

As soon as I saw it slip into place I knew that whatever he was going to say, was lost to me. 

_Damn you, Davos._

“Thank Sir Davos. We will be right there.”

I moved to follow Sir Davos, but Jon grabbed my forearm and pulled me back. 

“Sansa, I swear I will do all in my power to return safe and whole—I—the pack survives. You are my pack now.”

I pulled him into a fierce hug, not unlike the one we shared at Castle Black. I breathed in the smell of him: leather, pine, and sweat. 

He disengaged first but he looked at me for a long moment with warm eyes and gave me a sad smile before he finally let me go.

“Come on. We must not keep the men waiting.”

\----------  
Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought. Feedback is fuel.


	6. The Prince and The Frog — Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's pain over his true parentage blinds him to the motives a stranger he meets while encamped at Moat Caitlin.

“—She is stronger than she looks.”

“What?”

“Lady Stark—Sansa. You are worried about her. I can see it. You are a man of few words as it is, but you have been as silent as Ghost since we left Winterfell.”

“Aye, you are not wrong, Davos,” I tried to answer lightly. 

_Worried is too small of a word for what I feel._

“But I am not completely right either,” Davos pressed. 

I clenched my jaw at his observation. 

“Aye,” my smile more of a grimace this time. 

Davos huffed in annoyance when I didn’t elaborate.

“I may be stating the obvious, but I can’t advise you if will not tell me what worries you, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that, Davos, not in private, please.”

“Very well, _Jon_.”

“Thank you.” I adjusted my seat on my horse to give me a moment to choose words that may appease Davos. “I am worried about what will happen if I don’t return—I am not worried about dying—”

I laughed silently at the thought. 

Been there.

“I am worried what will happen to her if I don’t come back.”

_But I am even more afraid about what will happen if I do return—what I must confess—what I will lose._

I was more afraid of losing her than I was about losing my head. 

_In more ways than one, I was a dead man walking._

“Your Gra—Jon—Lady Sansa is safe at Winterfell.”

“Winter is here, Davos. None of us are safe. Including her.”

I thought back to what Littlefinger has said in the crypts before I left. 

_“You have little to fear from me in regards to Sansa. She is safer with me than with anyone else.”_

I regretted that I didn’t throw him against the wall and choke the breath from him. 

_Safe._

I huffed at his audacity. 

_He is the biggest threat to her safety outside of the Night King._

I hoped Sansa found a reason to lock him in a kennel sooner rather than later. 

“Then I suggest you make sure you return.”

“Aye,” I laughed humorlessly. 

“It is simple enough really.”

“Do tell, Sir Davos.”

“The next time you feel the urge to be a hero—resist— _Your Grace_.”

And bark of laughter escaped me at Sansa and Davos finally agreeing on something.

“You will be glad to hear that Sansa gave me the same counsel, Sir Davos.”

“Wise woman, your sister. She saved our asses once already; don’t make her regret it.”

“Aye. I owe her that much.”

_I have everything I ever wanted because she rallied me to fight. And I am a—_

“Pardon me Your Grace, but we are approaching the White Knife. We should be there before sunset,” said a Vale scout. 

“Thank you. It’s Siegfried, correct?”

“Close. It’s Siegmond, _Your Grace._ ”

“Apologies. Please the inform the vanguard to start preparing the camp when we meet the river.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Davos, why don’t you go with him.”

Davos gave me a longsuffering look. But he didn’t refuse me. 

“Yes, _Your Grace_.”

He knew he was being sent away. 

_I am sorry, Davos, but I can’t tell you what is truly on my mind. I can’t tell you about the secret Eddard Stark buried with his sister Lyanna._

_I can’t tell you, because telling you would make it real. And I am not ready for it to be real._

_I am not ready to lose it all again._

I thought back to the day we marched. Sansa had stood immovable as the Wall with snow clinging to her hair. She raised her chin and her eyes shone as I waved goodbye before riding through the gate. 

I have a home. I have a family. I have a place in the world.

_I am not ready to not be Ned Stark’s son._

\------------

I took first watch. 

When Davos protested, I merely shrugged and said, “I always took first watch. Sleep well, Davos.”

_Poor Davos. I am not worthy of his devotion._

I sat under a large fir not too far from camp on the south-east side closest to the river, sharpening Longclaw. Each stroke gave rhythm to the chaos of my thoughts. 

_You are not his son._ Stroke.

 _You never were his son._ Stroke.

 _You can never be a Stark._ Stroke.

 _You are worse than a bastard._ Stroke.

 _You are a rapist's spawn._ Stroke. 

_You are cursed._ Stroke.

 _You are dragons blood._ Stroke. 

At the last thought, I pressed too hard and the whetstone slipped violently out my hand and I nicked myself. “Ngah.”

_Some fucking king you are. Some fucking dragon you are—cutting yourself on your own fucking blade._

I dropped Longclaw on the ground and washed my cut with snow. 

I cradled my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees as I watched blood and tears indent the snow below me. 

I always wanted to know who my mother was. It was the only thing I resented my fath— _Lord Stark_ —for never telling me.

 _I imagine that is the only thing Lady Catelyn and I had in common._

I never understood why asking about my mother was forbidden, why he would clench his jaw in silent rage when I foolishly pressed him when I younger. What power could a woman’s name give a bastard? Everyone knows that is it is the sire that matters, not the mare. 

And I was right—in part.

_He dishonored himself to protect his sister’s memory—to protect me, the product of her captivity—from the name of my father._

When I understood what the marker behind that wall meant, who it was for and why it was in Lyanna’s crypt—I rejected it. I knocked down the remains of the wall and buried it.

 _The truth cut deeper than the lie._

I fled from the crypts like a coward and ran to the Godswood. I knelt and buried my sword before the weirwood face and prayed that it was not true. That is how Sansa found me. 

_She must have thought me craven. If she didn’t regret me being named King before, she must have then._

I wanted to tell her. But even in my shock, I knew what it meant. It meant that she was no longer my family. It meant that I was not fit to lead the North. It meant that my life is forfeit—always had been—my cock and my father’s name made me a threat to all my kin. 

_I didn’t want to die. And I didn’t want to return. But I fought to live for her._

While I believed her words she spoke under the heart tree, I wouldn’t hold her to her vow. How could I? She made a vow as a sister—not as a cousin to dragon spawn.

_The gods are cruel. My one reason for living now has every reason to want me dead._

But couldn’t I abdicate the throne when I returned—not with the threat marching beyond the Wall. If we—she—are going to survive, we need the North united. 

_Even if they are united behind a fraud—the Night King doesn’t care._

I can’t tell her, not until it is over—if I am still alive. If we live, I will tell her and surrender my crown and leave Westeros. 

I briefly imagine myself sailing to Braavos with the sea spray and warm air on my face. But I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I thought of the rancid smell of the ports. I couldn’t see myself staying in the city for long, only long enough until I could move mainland, maybe as a sellsword or guard. 

I would have a little farm in the hills, a simple place with white sun-warmed stones and a pink tiled roof. I would coax the leftover vines in the kitchen garden to produce grapes for my own vintage. It would be worse than the wine at the Wall, but it would be mine. There would be an anxious goat named Nelly who was terrorized by the small flock of chickens in the yard. 

Through the back gate, there would be a golden ocean of wheat that rocked heavy in the breeze. And the soil—the soil would be as black as my wife’s hair. 

I could see a woman with intelligent eyes and a warm mouth. She would sew by the fire and hum love songs while her stomach grew with our child. And I would name our first baby Sam—the only name I dare bring from the North. 

The fear that pricked me at the risk of naming my children Robb, Eddard or Arya shook me from my daydream. 

I wanted to leave my name behind. But I couldn’t leave the names of my family—my home.

_Not that it matters. You are fate has been decided, and whether Sansa takes your head or the Night King, you are not going to live to see Spring—let alone father children._

I picked up my sword, stood and walked to find the watchman for the second watch. 

_You will remain King long enough to do your duty by Sansa. And then it will be over._  
__________

“My scouts report there are less than a hundred men between the Gatehouse and the Drunkard’s Tower, Your Grace,” said Lord Royce. 

Just a half day from Moat Cailin, we needed to finalize our plan for chasing the remaining Bolton bannermen from their roost.

“Aye. But you know just a well as I that from their position they can strike down three of us for every one of them. I’d rather not waste lives if I don’t have too.”

“Hrummph. That is very _compassionate_ of Your Grace. But, forgive me for stating the obvious, neither do we have the time or resources for a siege.”

I swallowed a growl at Lord Royce’s observation.

“No need to apologize, Lord Royce. You are right, we don’t have time or resources for a siege.”

Lord Royce puffed his chest in triumph. “Mmhmmmm.”

“But neither do I wish to risk men’s lives—your men’s lives—needlessly. A warrior dies once, so let his death count. There is little risk in treating with them first.”

At my logic Lord Royce’s face flushed but he didn’t make a sound in rebuttal. After a long moment, he nodded.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his obstinance. 

_I wish Sansa were here. Lord Royce would be clay in her hands._

“Your Grace, while we know your intentions are j—just, uh, these bannerman have every reason to think any t—treaty is a t—trap,”stammered Lord Cerwyn as he looked away from me. 

“And why is that, Lord Cerwyn?”

“After my father was, uh, k—killed for r—refusing Lord Bolton’s request to raise his bannerman to retake Moat Cailin from the Ironborn, I—uh—I raised my men.”

I had no words to offer him, so I nodded and waited for him to continue.

Lord Cerwyn took a deep breath and met my gaze. 

“We were there when R—Ramsey sent the Theon Greyjoy to negotiate terms, and when the Ironborn d—dropped their weapons, he f—flayed them and hung the bodies on the causeway.”

_Those men in the tower probably watched him do it too._

I nodded again. “And are any of those men in the towers your men?”

“No, your Grace. Ramsey didn’t trust my men to hold the castle—b—because of my f—father.”

_Pity, terms would be easier to negotiate it they were._

“Regardless, I would like you to ride with me—”

Before I could finish my request, a scout entered the tent and thrust a man dressed in brown wool and rabbit fur on his knees in front of us.

“Pardon, Your Grace, for interrupting, but we found him lurking at our perimeter. He says he is a crannogman, but I think he is a Bolton man dressed in frog scales. Why else would we be able to catch him?” 

“Thank you, Siegmond. Let me speak with him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed and left the tent.

I pulled up a stool and sat level to the kneeling scout. He was as thin as a young man, but his face was weathered and his hair was more white than brown. He seemed weary, but unafraid. 

_He is not a Bolton then._

“What is your name and who do you serve?”

He looked me head to toe before he met my gaze and answered. 

“I am Bedwyn, my lord. And I serve Lord Reed.”

I sat back on my stool. 

“Reed?—Howland Reed?— bannerman to Lord Eddard Stark. He still lives?”

“The very same and yes, he still lives, my lord.”

“Then tell me, Bedwyn, why you felt it necessary to spy on our encampment? As my father’s bannerman, any Reed man would be welcome here.”

“Apologies my lord, but Lord Reed thought all the wolves were dead. So to hear tale that Stark banners flew again alongside the Knights of the Vale, no less—it sounded too good to be true. So he sent me to meet the commander who dared ride under Winterfell’s colors.”

 _He wanted to be caught. We are properly surrounded by dozens of crannog fighters, now._

At that, I stood. “I am Jon Snow, and as the last living son of Eddard Stark and King in the North, I have every right to fly my father’s colors. As for the Vale, they answered Lady Sansa call when we retook Winterfell from the Bolton’s over two moons ago.”

Bedwyn searched my frame for a second time—weighing me against some unknown standard. He sighed, his body relaxing with the breath and when he met my eyes his gaze seemed to look through me and at me at the same time. 

“Both Roose and Ramsey are gone?”

“Aye.”

“And so you have come to retake the moat—to secure your kingdom before the winter snows get too deep.”

I nodded at his observation, which, while accurate, pricked the hairs on my neck.

“You know of course, that while the moat can be taken from the North, you will waste good men’s lives in taking it.”

At that, Lord Royce harrumphed and I clenched my jaw. “Aye, we were just discussing the best plan of attack.”

_He is a presumptive little man, isn’t he._

A smile cracked Bedwyn’s face, reminding me of a child who had just won a game. His teeth were yellow and crooked. 

“Do you still think me a Bolton man dressed in frog scales, Your Grace?”

“No.”

“Then will you be so kind to untie me?”

I looked at Davos and nodded.

Davos freed his hands and Bedwyn got to his feet. I still had to look down to meet his eyes. 

“Lord Reed would like me to escort you to Greywater castle.”

“What?”

“You are the bastard of Winterfell, are you not?”

I felt Davos bluster at Bedwyn’s tone, but I held my up hand to stop his defense. 

“Aye.”

“Then he wants to speaks to you. He wants to help you retake Moat Cailin.”

 _Bedwyn knows more than he is letting on._

“Can you not bring him here to the camp?”

“I was specifically told to bring the bastard of Winterfell to Greywater Watch.”

“I would remind you, Master Bedwyn, that you are speaking to your King, and one does not make demands of a King,” said Davos

I closed my eyes at his rebuke and shook my head. “Davos, it is all right.”

“If you say so, Your Grace.”

“And how am I supposed to find Greywater Watch? I was told tales as a child of a floating castle that couldn’t be found except by those who knew.”

“I know the way. But I can only take you and a few of your men.”

“How long will it take?” 

Lord Royce beat Davos’ protest by a breath. “Your Grace, surely you don’t mean to follow this frog into the swamp!?”

“We will be back in three days time,” said Bedwyn, unfazed by Lord Royce’s slight. 

I nodded my head and turned to look at Lord Royce. “Don’t worry, Lord Royce. I won’t risk any of your men's lives. 

Lord Royce’s face turned red. As he turned to leave, he said, “I don’t know what she sees in you, bastard. If you are not back by sunrise on the fourth day, we are marching without you.”

Before I could argue, he was gone. 

I looked at Davos, and while his face betrayed that he agreed with Lord Royce’s sentiment, his words were loyal and without guile. “I will be ready to leave within the hour, if you are.”

_Oh Davos, may I be a worthy King._

“Aye.”  
\----------

We walked west through the marshland for several hours until Bedwyn lead us to a hidden boat.

Davos and I, along with Siegmond, who Lord Royce insisted accompany us, squeezed into the long, narrow boat. We were nested like peas in a pod. 

As we rowed, the marshland slowly transformed into a dense forest with a thick canopy that blocked most of the sun. My skin was slick with sweat but there was no breeze—I felt like I was slowly rotting—even though my breath still fogged the air. 

While Bedwyn had been chatty in the tent and even when we were hiking through the marsh, he only gave us one warning as we rowed through the swamp forest: “Be careful not to touch any logs. They are not logs.” 

Siegmond nearly fell into the water when a log snapped at his oar. But Davos grabbed his arm before he fell and pulled him back in. 

_logs are not logs—they are fucking monsters._

Bedwyn chuckled and said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I have seen a swarm of lizardlions pull a man apart.”

Siegmond just glowered at Bedwyn and gingerly continued rowing. 

When the sun no longer peeked through the leaves, Bedwyn lit the lantern at the bow of the boat. It reminded me of being in the Godswood, but instead of one tree having eyes, it felt like all the trees were watching us. 

_Maybe they are. Maybe this is the last refuge of the Children of the Forest._

I didn’t know how long we spent rowing, it could have been days or hours, but I let go of a breath I did not know I was holding when I saw another orb of light in front of us. 

That orb soon multiplied into five, then dozens of orbs until we reached a clearing that was lit with the winking lights from the trees. The light illuminated sky bridges between trees and little homes nestled with the branches. I heard the familiar sounds of people—a cry of a baby, the shuffle of feet, the laugh of a woman. 

_A hidden city in the forest._

I was enchanted. The city’s warm glow and gentle hum drowned all my physical discomfort.

Greywater Tower emerged from the mist. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was floating on air. The gate was open, and from what I could tell there was a light in every window. Whatever doubts I had about Bedwyn faded as I took in the warm welcome prepared for us. 

_I would guard the location of this place fiercely too if I were Lord Reed._

The castle was modest. It was short and fat with three tiers, enclosed by a scalable wall. It reminded me of a cake I once saw at a feast. We docked at a small pier, and Bedwyn secured the anchor before helping us up to the dock. 

“Welcome to Greywater Watch, Your Grace.”

“It’s—real.”

Bedwyn’s smile filled his face. “How are you still surprised by children’s stories being true?”

I had told him what I had seen beyond the wall during our journey, but still, his question unnerved me. I got the feeling that he would have asked it even if I had not told him about the Night King. 

I clenched my jaw. “Some stories should remain stories.”

His smile dropped but his eyes twinkled. “It doesn’t matter if the story is real—all that it matters is if it is true.”

_What kind of fucking riddle is that?_

When we passed through the gates, a dark-haired woman with large round eyes that seemed to sink into her skull was there to greet us. 

She looked from head to toe, just as Bedwyn had done, before she curtseyed and said, “My Lords, I welcome you to Greywater Watch. I am Lady Jyana Reed, and I am happy to see that my husband has escorted safely to our home.”

_Husband?_

I looked between Bedwyn, who had moved to stand by Lady Reed’s right side, and Davos and back again. Davos looked as dumbfounded as I felt. Siegmund just looked confused. 

_That shit._

“You’re Howland Reed.”

He smiled, “The one and the same.”

“Then why didn’t you say as much earlier? Why the deception?” I said, clenching my burned hand. 

_Sansa would have seen this a mile away. I am fucking idiot. You knew something was off about him, but you followed him anyway._

His face sobered. “Lord Eddard was great friend. What happened to you family— ” he looked away, not able to finish the sentence. 

He swallowed and looked back me. “When I was told that Stark banners had been seen flying again—it made me sick with anger. All the wolves were dead, I thought. I wanted to know who dared defile Lord Eddard’s sigil and punish him.”

“But when I saw your face—your demeanor—I remembered that Lord Eddard had four sons—not three. Please forgive me, your Grace. My deception was born of love, not malice.”

_You are not the only one to remember—and if only it were true._

“Worse things have been done in the name of love, Lord Reed. There is nothing to forgive.”

Lady Reed took that as a cue invite us in. “Your Grace and my lords, I am sure you are tired and hungry from your journey. After you have refreshed yourselves, we would be honored if you would join us for supper.”

“Thank you, my lady. You are too kind,” said Davos. 

Lady Reed nodded, her eyes reserved as she looked at me again. “Follow me.”  
\---------------

The easy camaraderie that Lord Reed had shown on our journey was muted by the presence of his wife. A tension hung between them that didn’t seem hostile, but felt threatening all the same.

“This soup is delicious, my lady,” said Siegmond with a cough, his brow sweating. “Although it is spicier than I expected. What is in it?”

“Just spices from where I grew up, and the turtle, of course,” she said, her eyes warm. 

“You are from Dorne, my lady?” Davos said, nearly spitting his soup. 

Lady Reed raised her eyebrows, her eyes wide, “Why yes, in fact. You have been?”

“Yes, it has been over twenty years ago, now. Everyone talks about Dornish wine, but in my humble opinion, it’s overrated. But maybe that is more due to years of smuggling the stuff. I found the food to be the true treasure of Dorne. The fish, the limons, and most of all the spices.”

Lady Reed laughed and clapped her hands, and gave Ser Davos a wide smile. “I am so glad to hear you say so. My husband has grown to love the taste as well,” she said, grabbing her husband’s hand, her eyes teasing. He grimaced good-naturedly. 

I just stared at Davos in awe. 

_How was he able to do that?_

But then I remembered one woman who he had yet to win over and I smiled. 

Lady Reed then looked at me, her face sober. I could see the violet of her eyes flash. “You are the natural-born son of Lord Eddard, yes? Where have you been all of this time? Why didn’t you die with Robb?”

Lord Reed murmured, “Jyana…”

But she held up her hand, silencing him, and Lord Reed sat back in his chair, resigned. He gave me an apologetic shrug.

“I left for the Wall when Lord Eddard went south to be Hand to Robert Baratheon, my lady. I—I was tempted to abandon my vows and join Robb’s campaign after Lord Eddard’s death.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I s—stayed because of brothers of the Watch.”

“Hmmm. Curious, then that same brotherhood didn’t stop you from abandoning your vows to become King in the North.”

_She thinks I wanted this—that I planned this._

I felt Davos shift in his seat beside me, obviously struggling with his desire to defend me and not wanting offend our lovely host. I shook my head at him and answered Lady Reed’s question.

“There was a mutiny, my lady. When I was Lord Commander, I allowed Wildings through the Wall because I knew there was a more terrible enemy North of the Wall than Wildings—the white walkers, as we call them. And my brothers—killed me for it.”

“And yet here you sit.” Her eyes bore into me and I felt as naked as I had in that dark room at Castle Black. 

I licked my lips, “Aye. Davos asked a priestess of Asshai to bring me back.”

She looked at Davos, her eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. “Is this true?” He nodded.

Lady Reed closed her eyes and slumped in her chair. After a long moment she looked at me again, her eyes haunted, and I felt like I was the ghost in her eyes. 

“While at the Wall did you ever come across children with names of Jojen and Meera?” She looked at her husband. “Lord Reed allowed them to go North to pledge loyalty to House Stark during the war.”

“I am sorry, my lady. I have never meet any children by that name.”

She looked away from me again, her mouth pinched, and stared at something over my shoulder.

“But I know that my brother Bran was accompanied North of the Wall by a simpleton and two others near his age, a boy of 14 and a girl of 18. Sam said the boy knew of the White Walkers and was taking Bran North for some important reason.”

Lady Reed whipped her head to meet my gaze, her eyes bright. “How long ago was this, Your Grace?”

“Over two years ago now. It was before I was elected Lord Commander.”

“So there is a chance they still live?”

“Aye.” 

She nodded and took a deep breath. 

_A small one, but one all the same. Sansa believed Bran was still out there somewhere. And she didn’t believe in much anymore._

She then straightened her spine and seemed to shake herself from whatever thoughts burdened her. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She looked over at Lord Reed and squeezed his hand, smiling weakly, and then looked at us. “If you will please excuse me, Your Grace, my lords, I am feeling tired.”

We collectively stood as Lady Reed left the room. 

When we sat down to finish our supper, I looked at Lord Reed. “I apologize, my lord, if I said or did anything to offend your wife.”

Lord Reed waved his hand and shook his head. “No need to apologize, your grace. My wife is like you, in some respects. She still doubts the old stories despite all she knows and has seen. But the hope that Meera and Jojen still live is the greatest gift you could have given us.”

I nodded and Lord Reed stood. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I believe I am needed elsewhere.”

After Lord Reed left, I finally had a chance to drink a spoonful of soup. I nearly coughed too as the aroma stung my nostrils. 

Davos laughed at me. “Don’t worry, the sting will pass, and you will begin to really savor the spice.”

I nodded mutely before taking another bite.  
____________

I woke to a loud knock on my door. I looked out the window for a clue as to the time, but it was still dark—and I remembered where I was. 

_Greywater Watch._

I stumbled out of bed. “Coming.”

I pulled on my britches, doublet and boots as quickly as I was able. 

I opened the door, expecting a grim-faced Davos, but instead, I found a grim-faced Lord Reed.

“What’s wrong? Are we under attack?”

“No, no, Your Grace, all is well—it is about an hour before dawn.”

I blinked at him. 

“There is something I need to show you.”

I couldn’t even protest before Lord Reed started walking down the hall. 

_Why couldn’t this wait until morning?_

I closed my door and dutifully followed him. He brought me to a room with a happy fire, and a table burdened with a dark chest. 

“Forgive me for waking you, but I wished to have this conversation in private.”

The fog of sleep cleared as the familiar feeling of dread and anxiety took its place. 

“You have my attention, Lord Reed.”

“Much was lost at the Red Wedding, your grace, and while we were unable to recover the remains of Robb or Lady Catelyn—we were able to recover this.”

He put his hands on the chest on the table. 

_I don’t want to know what is in that chest._

“And that is—”

“The remains of Lord Eddard Stark.”

I stared at him. 

_No. Please. No._

“How—” I rasped. 

“We believe they were returned to Lady Catelyn shortly before the wedding. We able to take them it from the Frey bannerman who stole it.”

I swallowed, moved towards the table, and opened the chest. Inside there was a skull perched on a mound of glistening white bones.

_That should be you. That will be you. You are death._

I dropped the lid and backed away from the table and sunk into the chair by the wall.

“Your Grace? Your Grace? Jon!”

Lord Reed was kneeling by my chair his eyebrows furrowed and eyes were anxious.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, but my chest felt tight and I was having a hard time focusing on Lord Reed’s face. I perched my elbows on my knees and held my head in my hands until the room stopped spinning. 

I heard Lord Reed’s boots retreat and return before the rim of a goblet entered my line of sight. 

“Here, drink this.”

I drank the ale almost in one go and used the back of my hand to wipe away a drop that I felt running down my chin. 

“Forgive me, my lord, I wasn’t prepared for that—”

Lord Reed nodded and pulled up a chair across from mine near the fire. “Death is a strange thing. Years can pass and you think you have healed, have made peace—until something drags you back and you feel the pain, as if it were new.”

“Aye.”

We sat in silence, listening to the fire pop and hiss. 

Lord Reed made eye contact with me and opened his mouth to say something, then he closed it again, shaking his head. 

“What is it?”

Lord Reed sat back in his chair, his eyes conflicted. He sighed, “Did Lord Stark ever tell you about your mother?”

“Pardon?”

_How would he know my mother?_

“I take that as a no.” I heard a muttered, “Damn you, Ned.”

_We are in agreement one thing at least._

“I thought you knew, because why else would you have claimed the crown?”

_I didn’t claim anything. Fuck this crown and the men who gave it to me. I only wear it to protect her—to protect our home._

Lord Reed stood up and paced around the room. 

“Damn you to seven hells and back, Ned. You should have fucking told the boy before sending him to the Wall," he muttered loudly to himself.

He poured a drink for himself and downed the goblet in a similar manner as me, then he poured himself another and sunk into his chair.

“You knew my mother?”

“Aye, she saved my life at the Tourney of Harrenhal. She was brave and kind and oh so lovely,” Lord Reed said, his eyes far away in a distant memory. “You are lucky to look so much like her.”

“Who was she?”

_While I knew the answer, having someone else know it too and speak her name would finally make it real._

“You are not Eddard’s son—you are Lyanna’s.”

There it was. 

It felt like learning of Lord Eddard’s execution all over again. My heart beat high in my throat and I felt my eyes itch from the sudden wetness that swelled there. 

_You can’t run from this, Jon. This is who you have always been._

I looked at the chest that held Lord Eddard’s bones, and I felt it fitting that the truth was spoken over his remains. 

_Not only is the man I thought as my father dead—he was never my father at all. And my mother was a ghost._

I fought the urge to run from the room like a child. Instead, I took a deep breath and looked at Lord Reed. 

“My father was—

“Prince Rhaegar fucking Targaryen,” spat a woman’s voice from behind us. We both turned to find Lady Reed standing in the doorway of the solar. She stepped inside and latched the door. 

“Ash—”

“Howland, he deserves to know the character of the man that sired him—before he rushes to claim his heritage.”

_Who does she think I am? I don’t want to be the blood of a dragon. All I ever wanted was to be a Stark—to be a worthy son to Lord Eddard._

Recovering from my shock at her entrance, I asked, “Wait, you knew the Prince? How—”

“I served as lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Martell. I sat next to Elia the day Rhaegar crowned Lyanna as the queen of love and beauty.”

I looked at Lord Reed, then back at his wife. “I still don’t understand.”

Lady Reed squared her shoulders and met my gaze. “I am Ashara Dayne of Starfall and sister to Sir Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning and Kings Guard to Prince Targaryen.”

\------------------  
What did you think? Let me know below. Thank ya'll for reading.


	7. A Dead Man's Lie — Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish's boredom and curiosity lead him to ask questions of Sansa that reveals a terrible truth.

“Pardon me, My Lady, but do you happen to remember any stories—eh—about Brandon the Builder or the building of Winterfell?”

“Some, My Lord, although I admit that I didn’t listen probably as I should have done.” I smiled weakly at Lord Coldwater, the castellan of Runestone, who was one of the 300 men Lord Royce had left at Winterfell.

_Bran would remember better than me. He loved those stories just as much as I loved stories about knights and grand romances._

“I only ask because Brandon the Builder, or whoever built this place, made some strange choices regarding its defenses.”

“How so?”

“Well, first off, normally a moat is dug outside of a castle’s walls. Your mother’s childhood home, Riverrun, is an extreme example of this. And then the outer wall is the only wall and the highest wall surrounding the keep.”

I think back to the castle walls I built as the snow fell in that Eryie courtyard years ago before I knew I was building Winterfell, with the inner walls being taller than the outer wall. 

“Ah, but there are two walls surrounding the keep, with the outer wall being shorter than the inner with a moat in between. Is that what you find so strange about Winterfell?”

“Well, yes My Lady.”

“Why exactly?”

He paused, staring at the map of Winterfell on the table almost in disbelief—as if the parchment has spoken secrets.

Lord Coldwater swept his grey-blonde hair from his face and licked his lips. “It is like who ever built this place—”

“Like what, Lord Coldwater?” I pressed. 

He looked at me, and then the other men in the room, “It’s like they built it especially for a foe so large and relentless, that you can only start to fight back at the second line.”

The room was silent for a beat. 

“Like an army of wights?” I said. 

I looked across the room and watched Lord Baelish clench his jaw and his smirk sour. 

“Exactly, My Lady,” nodded Lord Coldwater, his eyes anxious for my response. 

_Maybe not all the stories are lies. Maybe Brandon did exist and he did survive the first long night to build this keep—in the place where the King of Winter first “fell”—if Nan’s stories were true. He built this place in case they invaded again._

Lord Coldwater read my silence as doubt, and continued to speak, his rushed words betraying his nervousness. 

“By building the exterior wall to be shorter than the interior walls, concedes that enemy will be able to breach the first wall. Thus why the moat built between the two and the second wall is so much higher.”

I nodded.“So how do we fight from the second line?”

Lord Baelish’s eyes bored into me; his smirk had disappeared. 

He thinks it is a ridiculous plan for an invasion of reanimated corpses. He wants to worry about Cersei and Daenerys.

Lord Coldwater exhaled and squared his shoulders at my agreement.

“If—if King Jon is correct—"

He was cut off as Master Wolken announced himself with a quick knock and sudden push of the door, “Pardon me, My Lady, My Lords, I would have waited, but a raven just arrived from Castle Black.”

He reached across the room and dropped the scroll like it was hot coal in my hand and scurried away after I thanked him. 

_Poor man, he must feel cursed to be the bearer of bad news._

My pity for the maester was pushed from my mind, as I felt the eyes in the room bore into me and now the scroll seemed to burn my hand. I tore the seal and scanned the message silently.

**“Jon,**

**Your brother Bran has returned from North of the Wall. He and his companion Meera Reed are alive and well. They wish to travel on to Winterfell but we do not have the men to escort them south. Please advise.**

**Lord Commander Tollett”**

_Gods be good._

I breathed quickly through my nose and fought the need to lean on the table as I felt my knees shake. 

_He’s alive._

“What news from the Wall, My Lady?” asked Lord Coldwater when I didn’t relay the information quickly enough. 

_Lie. Lie fast and lie well. Now._

I adjusted my stance to keep my knees from buckling as I scanned the room, before meeting Lord Coldwater’s eyes. 

“You must forgive the Maester, My Lords,” I lifted my lips in what I hope passed for a smile. “Dark wings did not bring dark words. Commander Tollett only wrote to inform us that the Mormont party has arrived safely, and he is grateful for the new recruits and provisions.”

I watched as collectively the shoulders of the men relaxed and felt the tension from the room exhale. Only Lord Baelish did not adjust his perch by the window at the news. His eyes darted around the room until they met mine. 

I ignored Lord Baelish’s stoney gaze and my battering heart. 

“Now what were you saying Lord Coldwater about fighting from the second line?”

“Yes, My Lady, if King Jon is correct and fire is the only thing the can stop them, we should fill moat with pitch and firewood. And then pile firewood along the inner battlements, along with an reserves of whatever pitch, fat or grease that we have.”

“The castle would be surrounded by a ring of fire,” said Ser Shett, another Knight of the Vale.  
_Genius. If we could figure a way to keep the wood dry—_

“Yes, My Lord.”

I could feel the collective hum of the men through my boots as they considered Lord Coldwater’s words. 

“And what about the gates? They are all wood,” I asked, my mind racing at the prospect of hope. 

Lord Coldwater’s lips twisted, “We should barricade each gate with stones. All except the main gate until the very end.”

I nod, “But there won’t be time at the very end to barricade the front gate. If his Grace’s stories are anything to go by.”

“My Lady, you surely can’t be considering doing this?” asked Lord Baelish as he stood from his seat. “It is madness.”

Lord Coldwater’s body rippled with rage. “I assure you _My Lord,_ I am of sound body and mind. And I trust the reports of King Jon and countless others about what lies beyond the Wall. It would be madness not to prepare!”

Lord Baelish straightened his sleeves and sniffed at Lord Coldwater. “Even if this army of corpses does march—they are not going to get past the Wall. Isn’t that why it was built in the first place?! Fools, the lot of you.”

Lord Coldwater sputtered, but before he can spit out a response Lord Baelish excused himself. He glared at me as he left. 

_Shit._

But it couldn’t be helped. I wouldn’t stall preparations just to enrich the theater I was playing with Baelish. 

_Petyr is dangerous, but he is just a man. Why lies beyond the Wall will wait for no man, woman or child._

I breathed through my nose and looked at the remaining small council of Northern and Vale Lords and captains, and I smiled at Lord Coldwater.

“My apologies Lord Coldwater. Please continue. What were you saying about the gates? Where will we get the stone?”

\------------------------------

“What in seven hells was that, Sansa?” Lord Baelish said as he quietly clicked the door to my solar shut. 

He voice was quiet, but his breath rasped and his eyes glittered. In the moon, since Jon and Lord Royce left, Baelish had become bolder. 

_If that is possible._

But here he stood demanding questions of me—as if he was entitled to them. 

_When the cat is away the mice will play—I think is what the common folk say._

So now who is the fool to forget that they are now in the Wolves den—not the Lion’s. 

“That was council deciding how to defend Winterfell against an invasion of undead.”

The vein on Lord Baelish’s head throbbed and his jaw stiffened. 

“Don’t play the fool. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I am glad you remembered that I had wits Lord Baelish, because your question implies otherwise.”

At that Lord Baelish’s eyes go wide before he shutters his anger behind his courtier’s mask, and he straightens his sleeves. 

“You are right, My Lady. Please forgive me, I just don’t understand your reasons for continuing this farce. I am mean, really, seal the gates with stone!” he spat. 

I nodded at him. I walked over to the pitcher and poured us two goblets of wine.

“Please sit, Lord Baelish, and I will gladly explain the method to my madness.”

He sat, and I handed him the goblet before sitting myself. I took a sip and allowed the taste to ground me, to remind me that he cannot hurt me here. 

“Winter is here, Lord Baelish.”

He huffed and crossed his legs, but he did not interrupt. 

“And we will need firewood, lots of it. We won’t be able to trek to the Wolfswood every time cook needs wood for the kitchen—the snows will be too deep.”

“Yes, fine,” he conceded with a wave of his hand. “But you haven’t answered my question. Why seal the gates?”

“We need to control who leaves and enters Winterfell so no one dies or gets lost in the snow. A barricade may be extreme but it is the most effective way to control the amount of people in Winterfell. I don’t believe the Night King needs to be real in order for us to prepare for the worst.”

Lord Baelish rocked his head in understanding and swirled the liquid in his cup. “And the moat of fire?”

“We have to build it. Enough people believe Jon that I can’t sit around and do nothing without being seen as grossly incompetent. What’s more, the work will keep them warm and give them something to take their mind off the fear of dying of cold.” 

“You would really have me believe you are doing this out of love for the people?”

“Yes!” I said with a flourish of my hands.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes searching my body for any tell that would give away my bluff. But my anger was genuine and my reasons sound—there was little for him to find. 

His shoulders relaxed and he finally drinks the wine, quickly putting it aside with a grimace. 

“Now that you are queen all but name, you must get better wine,” he with a smile finally cracking his stony face.

I felt my shoulders fall in relief. I sipped my wine savoring its tartness and smiled in return, “I am not like other Queens you have known, Lord Baelish.” 

\------------------------------

Master Wolken found me in the kitchen with Betsy reviewing and rationing our stores.

“My Lady, a raven from the King has just arrived from the Neck.” At his words, I saw the hands of many of the kitchen maids slow. I couldn’t blame them. My heart skipped a beat and I felt heat creep into my cheeks as I tore open the seal. 

He had been gone two moons now, and the last raven I had received had been when they had left Castle Cerwyn—over a moon ago. 

**“My Lady,**

**We have retaken Moat Cailin with the aid of Lord Howland Reed, your father’s trusted bannerman from the Rebellion. I informed Lord Reed about Meera and Bran. He marches North and should arrive in a moon. I wish I could ride with him.**

**Davos and I depart for White Harbor in the morn. We should arrive at the harbor in a fortnight and then sail to Dragonstone.**

**The Twins have fallen, but what is more, the common folk say, “Winter came for House Frey.” They say a she-wolf feed Sir Walder a pie made from the flesh of his sons and took his face. Then this skinchanger, wearing Sir Walder’s face, poisoned all of his sons at a feast. But no one has seen the she-wolf since. I don’t know what to make of it, my lady, except that we are not the last of the wolves.**

**I have sent Lord Royce and the Knights of the Vale and the rest of our south to retake Riverrun and secure the Twins. Lord Royce has been ordered to send news to Winterfell. The Lannister's forces are marching south and east in anticipation of an assault by Dragon Queen.**

**I hope this letter finds you well. Until we meet again.**

**Jon”**

I quickly stuffed Jon’s letter into the pocket of my dress and looked at the women in the kitchen. I couldn’t stop the smile that dug into my cheek, “All is well, the King lives. The Neck is secure in the Stark hands again.”

There is a collective sigh among the women, with a few clapping their hands with joy. 

_And she-wolf brought justice to House Frey._

In my gut, I knew there was only one other she-wolf— _Arya_.

My smile widened and I quickly excused myself. I needed time to think. 

_The wolves are coming home. And Lord Baelish will not lay a little finger on them_. 

The women working in the yard outnumbered the men three to one, I observed as I walked through the courtyard towards the crypts. I felt proud of my sex in a way that I never allowed myself before. 

_Whoever said women were the weaker sex was probably the same man who said, death before dishonor._

Not all the women were training with the men—most were hewing wood or cutting arrow shafts. There were even a handful huddled, common and wilding, around the blacksmith’s hearth watching him repair armor. 

_When men die, it is we who must survive._

I even saw a girl of ten show a handful of knights how to darn their socks. It was the first time I saw a group of men allow themselves to listen to a girl—about knitting nonetheless.

_I wonder if Jon had learned to knit at the wall? There are no women there, after all._

I nearly laughed out loud of the thought of some poor soul teaching Jon how to mend his socks. I felt sympathy for the socks and his toes alike. 

I descended into the crypts to escape the bustle and to think about the news Jon sent only to be brought up short by the sight Lord Baelish lighting a candle for my Unlce Brandon. 

But I had done nothing to mask my steps, as this was a sacred place—for Starks—and for Starks alone. 

_Lord Baelish has grown too bold._

That he also dared to light candles for Brandon, who he hated, twisted my stomach. 

“I don’t remember inviting you here Lord Baelish.” My cold breath frosted my words.

For the first time in knowing Lord Baelish, I saw a flicker of panic pass over his face, before he smiled and bowed, “Forgive me, My Lady, I merely wished to pay my respects. I will take my leave now.”

Although I hated him being in the crypts alone, pissing or whatever in seven hells he was doing on my uncle’s resting place, I did not wish to waste my advantage of catching him off guard, in my territory. 

“No, no, please stay,” I allowed warmth in my tone. “You—you just caught me off guard, my Lord.”

His body did not relax at my words and his eyes were blank. I walked to him and took the candle from his hands and walked toward Rickon’s crypt and started lighting candles. 

“I just got a raven from Jon. Moat Cailin is back under Stark control. And Jon is riding to White Harbor as we speak. He will have an audience with the Dragon Queen in less than a moon, I am sure of it.”

His shoulders dropped and his mouth curved into his cheek. “That is wonderful news.”

“Yes, and if all goes to plan, Jon will also lose his crown, in every sense of the word, not long after.” I smiled back at Lord Baelish even as I felt the shadows of the dead kings encroaching in judgment. 

I turned back around and finished lighting Lyanna’s candles. 

“And what will be your first act as Queen?” Lord Baelish asked, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the candles and his body turned towards me. 

_Hold a trial for the murder of Ned Stark._

“Continuing to prepare my people for Winter,” I said while looking into the now-familiar stone face of my aunt. 

“What of Daenerys? Cersei?”

“What of them? They will destroy each other. And _if_ Daenerys’ foreign southern army can march in these snows and _if_ her dragons can survive this cold—then I will treat with her.”

I briefly glanced at Lord Baelish’s face and his eyes gleamed with more than just pride. My heart crawled up my throat in recognition of his lust. 

_No. I am not your creature anymore._

“Why are you here Lord Baelish?” I asked with a bored tone. 

“Curiosity, mostly. It is awfully dreary, the North, you know. But Winterfell, while not King's Landing, it seems has secrets of its own,” spoke Littlefinger as he stepped closer, his shoulder nearly touching mine. 

I felt the hair on my neck stand, like the dead grass in a field resurrected by a winter breeze. A chill ran down my spine. 

_What secrets are there to find? Starks are not schemers. Schemes don’t keep you alive when the wolves are at your door._

“Oh, and what secrets have you found, Lord Baelish?” I asked, my voice dressed in silk to hide its edge. 

_Let him forget the wolves have teeth._

Lord Baelish turned and lifted an eyebrow at my change in tone, “You really never thought about the curious existence of your beloved brother, Jon?”

My stomach suddenly felt like I had eaten rocks for supper instead of kidney pie. 

“If my marriage to Ramsey taught me anything, Lord Baelish, it was how _exactly_ babies come to be,” I said stiffly. 

“Of course, forgive me, my lady. I only meant don’t you find it odd the honorable Lord Eddard Stark betrayed his wife shortly after marrying her? Such behavior by another man is not uncommon, but such behavior from Lord Eddard—some would say it was uncharacteristic.”

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears but I clasp my hands under my cloak so that he can’t see me worry my knuckles. 

“I admit I have never thought of it before, Lord Baelish. But he is the blood of Winterfell—he looked more like my father than any of my other siblings. But if as you believe, Jon is not my father’s bastard, then he can only be Brandon’s. It doesn’t change anything—not really.” 

“True my lady, but Jon is the same age as Robb, if I am not mistaken?”

“I believe so, why?” I searched my mind for the conclusion Lord Baelish was looking for. The rocks in my stomach only got heavier. 

“Your father married your mother after Brandon’s death—were you never told this story? And the next day your father rode to war. Robb was conceived that night. And when your mother arrived at Winterfell with Lord Eddard’s heir in her arms—”

“She found another woman’s son already installed in the nursery. Yes, I know the story, Lord Baelish.”

“Then you know that Jon can’t be Brandon’s bastard—not if he is the same age as Robb. And why would Lord Eddard dishonor his wife by claiming Brandon’s bastard as his own? That seems unnecessary—even by Lord Eddard’s standards.” 

“If Jon is not my father’s son nor my uncle’s—then whose son is he?”

“Hers—your Aunt Lyanna.”

I quickly looked into the stone faced woman and then back at Lord Baelish. “Lyanna died of a fever while she was imprisoned in the Tower of Joy—”

“Birthing fever most likely. I have also heard tale that she died in a bed of blood—not unlike countless other women who lose their lives giving birth.”

My mouth went dry and wetted my lips before I spoke, “You think that—that Jon is Lyanna's son by Rhaegar Targaryen?”

_No. That can’t be true—_

Lord Baelish smiled as I finally pieced together his puzzle. “Yes, exactly.”

_That would make Jon a Targaryen, bastard or not. Not to mention, the child of rape. He would be seen as an abomination by the North. They would have his head._

I struggled to breathe normally and to keep the shaking of my knees from traveling up the rest of my body. 

_My father didn’t lie to mother. He loved her._

Said a small voice that sounded too much like the girl used to believe in songs. I squished it immediately. 

“You think my father lied to everyone—shamed his wife—just to protect Jon? That is just as uncharacteristic as my father siring a bastard in the first place.” I turned to face him. “That is circular reasoning, Lord Baelish. My father would not dishonor his wife to sire a bastard, but he dishonors his wife to protect a bastard he didn’t sire?”

 _But could he have done? The truth is either boring or terrible. Don’t you remember?_

“I admit, my lady, that it was uncharacteristic for Lord Eddard to lie— _for his own benefit_. But he did lie—dishonor himself even—to protect people he loved. To protect you. Don’t you remember?”

He searched my eyes, and I nodded and looked away as I felt age old shame heat my cheeks and I struggled to keep the warmth from thawing tears from eyes. 

I remembered the false sense of safety that filled me when I heard my father admit to being a traitor—because I thought I persuaded Joffery to be merciful. 

_But it was Lord Baelish that truly had Joffrey's ear. Joffrey would have spared father if it hadn’t been for his whispers._

“And if he would dishonor himself to protect his precious daughters, then it would not be uncharacteristic of him to dishonor himself to protect the child of his only sister.”

I looked back to the stone face of my aunt then to Lord Baelish. 

_I would do more than lie to keep Jon safe—to keep any of my family safe. How can I judge father, if I would do so much more._

I inhaled quickly through my nose to clear my anxiety that hung in my throat like phlegm. “Even if are right about Jon—unless you have proof, it still doesn’t change anything—especially coming from you. If you haven’t noticed, Lord Baelish, you are not loved in the North.”

I see the corner of Lord Baelish’s mouth twitch in amusement. “I am aware of that, my lady. And if it all goes to plan, Jon won’t come back. But if he does, you can never have too much information on your enemy.”

I nodded even as I felt my heartbeat crash on my ears like the waves on the Red Keep. “Even if that information is only just a rumor. Because the right rumor can bring down Kings.”

“Exactly, my lady.”

_He will destroy everything good left in my life until he remains. And he would have the gall to expect me to be grateful for all he has done to keep me “safe”._

I wanted to spit at his feet and call for his head. Instead, I allowed my breath to lift my eyes and lips into a smile and tilted my head. 

“Thank you for trusting me with that secret. I will keep it in mind. But if you would excuse me I would like to pay my respects alone. I will see you in the Great Hall for supper.”

“Yes, My Lady.” 

\-------------------------------

I didn’t speak about Jon’s parentage again with Lord Baelish. There was no need until we knew the outcome of Jon’s meeting with Queen Daenerys. But that didn’t stop me from obsessing about it. I found myself more often than not staring into the fire with my sewing forgotten in my lap. 

_If it is true, it would change everything._

He would not be your brother, but your cousin. He would be a dragon, not a wolf. Most importantly, his right to the crown would be challenged. 

_The North would be divided. And we would fall._

Lord Royce and the Vale distrusted the Targaryens as much as the rest of the North. The wildings wouldn’t care about whose Jon’s father was, but they would leave if Jon were no longer King. Lord Baelish would rush to marry me so he could be Warden of the North—as well as any remaining heirs in North. Unless I refused them all and choose to lead the North instead. 

But I believed what he said he saw north of the Wall. And I knew that I could not fight it alone—not without him.

_None of us could._

But I believed deep in my gut that Jon was the only person alive left who could lead any charge for life that could succeed. He had to remain king. It didn’t matter if he was dragon spawn. 

_Jon’s blood would be as irrelevant as my embroidery to the Night King._

I also believed that Jon would return from the Dragon Queen unharmed. I knew it was silly hope, from a girl I thought was long past dead, but it didn’t shake the knowledge that warmed my gut. 

_He promised he would protect me._

And for some inexplicable reason, I believed him. 

But now, I had to protect him. When he returns, Lord Baelish will try to tell his lie. And even if he is beheaded for treason, it wouldn’t remove any doubt about Jon’s true parentage. 

_And who are you fooling Sansa, Jon’s parentage has always been in doubt._

I remembered the gossip as a girl about whose Jon’s mother could possibly be, especially as Lady Catelyn was such a fine woman and my father was so honorable. But it never mattered before. Because he was only a bastard that could never inherit. But now it mattered—maybe always mattered—if Baelish’s theorizing could be believed. 

_So if you can’t stop Petyr from spreading his rumor, you will never live to see spring._

I stood up and let my sewing fall to the floor and poured myself a goblet of ale and drank it all in one gulp. I poured myself another and sat back down looking into the fire. 

_But what if you could confirm it?_

Jon is loved. That is why they named him King instead of me, after all, the dishonored, Southern-tainted daughter of Ned Stark. They would _want_ him to remain King, or at least the commander of their army, even if he was Targaryen if they had proof beyond a rumor. 

_If you could confirm his parentage, you could give them that choice._

I had to hold the cup of ale with both of my hands as I felt my hands shake at the answer. 

_If you could confirm his parentage, he could take your name and be a Stark by marriage—if not blood._

I felt my stomach twist at the thought and heat creep low in my belly. 

_He would be a good husband. Gentle. Strong. Brave._

Shame violently inflamed the heat in my veins, like brandy thrown on a fire at the thought. 

_You are no better than Cersei. He is your brother!_

With disgust, I drank the rest of the ale, blew out my candles, and threw myself under my covers. But I could stop my tears from falling or gasping breaths that rocked my body. 

_You are broken. You are depraved._

But all my shame and disgust couldn’t hide the truth. I could love Jon more than a brother. 

_Maybe I already did._

\---------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Feedback is fuel.


	8. The Price Paid — Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns the truth of what Rhaegar did, and why, from one of the few people alive left to know: Ashara Dayne, handmaid to Princess Elia and sister to Arthur Dayne, the Prince’s best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a year. So it makes sense if you don't remember where I left Jon last. This is effectively part two of the last Jon chapter. It took so long because—basically I had to give an answer to the Lyanna x Rheaghar debate (which is daunting as hell), and also breathe life into characters that are typically brushed over in the rush to see Jon and Sansa bang.
> 
> Like I really wanted Howland to feel real, not just a deux ex machina. And Ashara Dayne is the Elia stan that we so desperately need in this world. Because I think it is important that Jon knows the intimate price his birth caused others. Also I am really excited for Sansa to meet Ashara. 
> 
> So please let me know what you think of Ashara and Howland, and if I did credit to the grief processd that Jon is going through.

“While I am glad your little plan worked, but if you expect me to march my army to the Twins because father frog croaked a story about winter coming for House Frey, you must think me a fool,” blustered Lord Royce shooting a glance at Lord Reed sitting quietly in the corner, who watched Lord Royce with a bemused sort of smile.

I took a deep breath before responding in attempt to hide my annoyance with Royce’s lack of respect for the crannogmen that just helped deliver our victory at Moat Cailin. While our forces had distracted the Bolton loyalists with an overt attack, Lord Reed and couple dozen crannogmen forced their entry into the undefended side of the tower. We suffered injuries, but no losses because of Lord Reed.

But I chose to not call him out on it. _For now_.

“We both know you are many things Lord Royce—and a fool is not one of them. I am asking you to go out of loyalty to Lady Stark. If the Freys have fallen, and the Lannisters are moving south, by securing the Twins, you and the Knights of the Vale secure the North from the South. You can almost single handedly retake what was lost in the Red Wedding.”

“Mhmmm—but if—”

“—but if the Twins have not fallen, you have my permission to return to Moat Cailin. You have little to lose, and much to gain in the eyes of Lady Stark, my Lord," I finished.

Lord Royce’s gaze bore into me, assessing my offer, and I had to resist the urge to squirm under his attempt to intimidate me. _You are a King. And he is no Alliser Thorne. You will not yield._

After a long moment, Royce finally broke my gaze and nodded. “We will go, your Grace, but only to discharge Vale’s dishonor for not rallying behind King Robb,” Lord Royce said hotly. “But if our scouts find your information was wrong. We will be returning to Winterfell, _your Grace_ , to serve Lady Sansa—as we promised. Let your frogs guard the swamp.”

Davos huffed and opened his mouth to protest on my behalf, but I raised my hand as a sign to let Lord Royce’s word stand. Davos shut his mouth promptly, rocking on his heels and staring at the ceiling of the tent as if to beg the heavens to return me to my senses. 

“Very well, Lord Royce. You are dismissed.”

Royce grabbed his gloves and gave a shallow bow and barely audible, “Your Grace,” as he left the tent. When the flap has closed, Davos turned to me again, and said what I would not let him say before. 

“You are a King, Jon. You should not allow him to disrespect your orders.”

“A beggar king, Davos—as long as his forces make up the bulk of our army Lord Royce can do as he wishes, and he knows it. He came here to serve Sansa, not me—and I will not lose our army out of misplaced pride—I owe her that much.”

_I will take Lord Royce over Alliser Thorne anyday._

“That well may be Jon, but you still are a King”

 _Not for long._ “My pride matters little Davos. Not with the threat beyond the Wall.”

Davos grudging conceded with a grunt. 

“Your Grace?” said Lord Reed as he stepped away from the corner of the tent he occupied. “May I have a moment of you time.”

I gestured for him to continue, but Lord Reed eyed Lord Cerwyn, before adding, “Alone.”

I nodded and Lord Cerwyn had enough wits to excuse himself from the tent. And then I nodded at Davos to leave as well. He took no effort to hide his huff or repress a quick roll of his eyes, but he too left the tent. 

Discomfort filled my belly as I remembered the last time I was alone in a room with Lord Reed.

“What can I do for you my Lord?” I said. 

“Now, that the crannogmen have helped you retake Moat Cailin, your Grace, I beg your leave to go to Winterfell to see my daughter.”

“Lord Reed—I can’t let you go North. Not yet. I can have Sansa send your daughter South if you wish. You heard Lord Royce. He will not guard Moat Cailin. _Nor_ is he the best person to do so—only you can properly guard the Neck.”

I felt a wave of heat wash of over me in shame of denying his request. _A better King would not demand this of you. But I am the king that was crowned_.

Lord Reed grimaced while nodding but took another step forward, “I understand the need for delay, your Grace. But when we returned from Greywater Watch and you received that raven from Lady Stark about Meera and Bran, _you promised me_ , both my wife and I could go North and see after the health of— _our only living child._ —after we retook the Moat.” 

I winced to hear my terms thrown back at me, but I knew I couldn’t yield. “I did not forget my promise to you my lord. I will write Lady Stark—.”

“No, no, no—my wife will have my head if I ask her to wait a moment longer once I give her the news.”

“I can’t have you go North my Lord. I need you to stay here guarding Moat Cailin.”

“I understand your Grace, that is why I am asking leave for my wife to go in my stead.” 

My stomach dropped at his words. The prospect of Lady Reed traveling North alone, filled me with unease. _Will you deny a mother the comfort of her child for fear of a secret?_

_It matters little, anyway. Dragon spawn or no, You are a cursed man, Jon—there is no point to delaying your fate._

But my heart angrily protested the thought of returning home to a bitter and estranged Sansa— _if I ever return home_ —from losing the only family I had left to me. All because of the truth that Lady Reed knows. 

I balled fists, feeling the sudden urge to punch the man that sired me. _I should have never been born. Nothingness is better than this life._

“I will let let her go on one condition—”

“She will not say a word, your Grace—”

I mirthless laughed escape my lips. “She had plenty of words the other night. Who is to say she will not say even more—”

Lord Reed squared his shoulders and tilted his chin, “Careful, _Your Grace_. I am not above striking you down, even if you are my King. Not where my wife is concerned—”

I clenched my jaw briefly but I gentled my tone, “No disrespect meant, my lord, I was only being frank about the _outspoken nature of your wife_. I would like her to renew her oath of secrecy before she heads North.”

Lord Reed rocked on his heels and sucked his teeth. “My word is no longer word is not enough? Isn’t our silence thus far proof enough of our loyalty.”

“Silence was easy when was I an orphan of a fallen house or when I was just another bastard manning the Wall—

“Easy! Did you hear nothing of what Ash said—”

“—Lady Reed has little love for me!—As she very well made clear!” I cut him off. “I don’t discount the sacrifice she made for me out of love for her dead brother. But the pain of that sacrifice was eased by the knowledge that I, an orphan named Snow, stood little chance of becoming anything more than an obscure bastard. But now that I am King, she has the power to seek justice for the murders of Elia Martell and Aegon and Rhaenys while shredding what semblance of unity Sansa and I have stitched together!”

“Ash would never—”

“Did _you_ not hear all of what Lady Reed said Howland!? Lady Reed will renew her oath of silence or she will not go North!” I clenched and unclenched my burned hand. “Or I will have Sansa send a guard to escort Meera back home instead.” 

Lord Reed starred me down but my fury steeled my gaze. With blink and a loud exhale Lord Reed looked away, “You _are_ a fucking bastard.” And with that he left, the flap of the tent whipping at his heels. 

_If only that were true._ My thoughts were again drawn back to that morning in Lord Reed’s solar.

***********

Lady Reed had answered my question about who she was by adopting her queenly stance, her tilted chin and the gleam of her eye both pointed at me, “I am Ashara Dayne of Starfall and sister to Sir Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning and Kings Guard to Prince Targaryen.”

I answered dumbly with an small, “Oh.” Followed after a moment with an barely articulate, “So you knew him—my father—you were at court when he took Lyanna—”

“Yes I knew him. I knew him before his marriage and saw how he changed in the years after but, no, I wasn’t there—I left court before he eloped with Lyanna to hide my—”

“—eloped?” My wits having finally rallied from Ashara’s ambush into the solar. “Is that word the Dornish use for abduction and rape?” 

Ashara’s mouth twisted before she huffed a humorless laugh. “The North Remembers!—oh so very poorly it seems. Well I suppose telling your banneman that your daughter ran away with the married prince is a poor story to tell soldiers you want to die defending that daughter's honor.”

I stood suddenly and my fist clenched instinctively—stupidly—prepared to fight for my mother’s honor. _Why did I suddenly care for the honor of a woman that I longed believed to be a whore?_ But it was that orphaned boy who I thought had died at the Wall whose protest fell from my lips, “That is not true—”

“Assure you that it is the truth. Yes, my _young king_ , Lyanna went willing. She left a letter and everything from what I was told. Though, I can’t really blame Lord Rickard for changing the story. It was genius really. Because who doesn’t want to be part of a rescue crusade to save a beautiful maid from a rapist prince.”

Still, the boy inside me refused to believe that my mother would do such a reckless thing. I shook my head vigorously, “No. She didn’t—she wouldn’t do that to her family—”

Lady Ashara’s eyes softened as she heard a wounded boy speak through a King’s mouth, “I am sorry, Jon. She did. She choose Rhaegar—over her father’s best laid plans and Robert’s heart.”

The child inside me still refused to believe it, “But why—”

“I assume because she thought she was in love.” She said almost wistfully as she caught Lord Reed’s eye and smiled which he returned with a twitch of his cheek. “She was a child looking for a love found only in songs. And Rhaegar was—,” Ashara paused, seeming to struggle how to describe the man that divided a nation. 

“He was what—”

“There was something about him, a melancholy, perhaps, a thoughtfulness that made him attractive to gentle hearts like Elia, my brother and even Lyanna. But at the end, that thoughtfulness was overcome by a single mindedness that had laid dormant until he came across a bone worthy of latching on to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes—he was hard to understand even when he lived.” Lady Ashara paused again trying to find the right words to describe a man who seemed to defy definition. “The man that Elia married, that my brother died for and Lyanna loved is a different man than the man who seduced a betrothed girl, abandoned his wife to the violent whims of her father-in-law, and ordered my brother and the King’s guard to hold a scared pregnant girl in a tower against her will.” 

I growled in frustration at her paradoxical explanation of this man that supposedly sired me. 

“So he was mad, just like his father, the King—what of it?” I bit out, my voice on the edge of quivering—betraying me. “Are you worried I am will turn mad too? Is that it that what you wanted to tell me? That I was cursed? Well you needn’t have bothered _my lady_ I know that I am ill-fated. If I didn’t know before, this—” I said sweeping my hand across the room, lingering on the chest on the table, “—just confirms it,” I tried to sneer, even as I felt my eyes sting with restrained tears. 

“Rhaegar didn’t think so. He believed you—and his children by Elia—were destined to save the world. ‘The dragon must have three heads.’ Is the chorus Elia told me Rhaegar uttered most after Aegon’s birth.” Ashara swiveled her head back to grab my gaze. “No. Rhaegar wasn’t mad, not like his father, but he did mad things in the name of that thrice damned prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

She shook her head and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand clearly overwhelmed by our conversation and sat down next to her husband in seeming exhaustion, “The coming of a Prince that will save the world from destruction.”

My legs suddenly felt weak. _No, no, no_ and I too had to sit down. 

“What sane man would thrust the realm into civil war over a prophecy?” I said as a voice in my head that sounded too much like the red witch replied _Yet, you threw the Night’s Watch into chaos over a vision in the fire._

 _Aye, and look how I was repaid for it—it was madness._ The red witche's voice replied, _Is it madness if the grey girl was real?_

“Rheaghar did. And he was sane. He was smart and well read. He was gentle and loving. But he was also dutiful to a fault—the perfect Prince. But after his marriage to Eila he become convinced it was his duty to save the realm from a yet unforeseen destruction and that his children, his ‘three heads of the dragon’, would be the realm’s salvation.”

“If he had already fathered two children by Elia, why didn’t he just father another?”

Lady Reed huffed, clearly annoyed that she had to explain something that must have seemed obvious to her. “Elia was a petite woman with small hips and a delicate composition. Aegon’s birth nearly killed her. Rhaegar knew he couldn’t have another child by her without risking her and the child’s life.” 

_Yet he would risk Lyanna’s life. A girl of four and ten—barely a girl flowered and hardly a woman grown._ But I kept that thought to myself. 

“So he needed another wife. Fine, marry another maid from the court. Why elope with a woman already pledged to another?” 

Lady Reed explained in a tight tone. “He wanted a dragon that was both Ice and Fire. Lyanna was Ice to his Fire—”

I too now huffed in frustration, “This is nonsense. So what was it? Was he trying to sire the Prince that was Promised from Fire and Ice or did he want another head for his three-head dragon.”

“I believe he thought they were one and the same. The Prince would be a dragon and the dragon must have three heads.” 

“He was mad.”

“I thought so too once—I told Elia to leave before his mad quest cost her life, but she supported him—believed him.” Her voice had softened, but the edge in her tone was still sharp. “But here you sit. The last trueborn heir of Rhaeghar Targaryen—his song of Fire and Ice embodied—the fucking Prince that was Promised.”

I sneered at her, “You are mad,” I stood from my chair glaring down at her. “I am not any kind of Prince. I was born a bastard; I will die a bastard. Fuck Rhaeghar and his prophecy.”

She stood up. And although she was shorter than me, in her renewed rage at my words she seemed to tower over me.

“My best friend, Elia,” She said, pronouncing each syllable with a fisted _thud, thud, thud,_ on her breastbone, “Was raped and murdered by the Mountain during the Sack. Her children’s blood on his hands while he did it! My brother” _thud, thud_ “Gave his life to protect you, the last Targaryen heir, after Rhaegar fell.

“The realm bled so that you could be born,” Her fingers bloomed over her breast and then clutched over heart her voice hoarse. “Rhaegar paid for your life with their blood! You _are_ the Prince that was promised. As much as I hate you for it,” she spit, “As much as I hate Rhaegar for being right, I will not let Elia’s and Arthur's death mean nothing. If you deny your destiny, I will kill you myself.”

“Aye, while I would more than welcome death by your beautiful hand my lady, but first I must know my destiny to deny it." I goaded. "Do tell, what is the Prince that is Promised supposed to do?!”

“He is supposed to bring balance to the realm.”

I barked at laugh at the ceiling. “Ah. Is that all? Should I just fell the Night King with my flaming sword? Restore peace and justice with a royal decree?” 

“You are born from Ice and Fire.”

“What of it, I am flesh and bone like any other man—I am not special.”

“Yes, and any other man is raised from the dead no less for wear,” she snarked.

Her wit cut, but I tried to parry, “I did not ask for this second life! I take no pleasure it. I live—”

 _I live only for Sansa._ I swallowed that truth painfully. 

“You live for what—” Lady Ashara goaded. 

“I live because my Watch is not over! The gods made that more than clear!”

Lady Ashara’s eyebrows burrowed into her forehead, “Then why did you leave the Wall?”

“My brothers murdered me! Would you have stayed after such a thing?”

“Of course not! But I would also never take a seat of power that did not belong to me. I would never crown myself Queen of the Marshlands over the rights of my children.”

_She finally said it._

“I did not steal my crown—I was proclaimed King of the North by my people.”

“You are no Stark. That crown does not belong to you.”

“You don’t think I don’t know that! It is Sansa’s by blood and conquest!”

“Yet you did not protest—”

“And insult the men and women who named me King?”

She huffed and circled around me, glaring at me, like an predator closing in on her prey. 

“Because crowning a woman Queen is an insult? _Fucking Westorsi!_ ”

“No—that is not what I—”

“No? What then?”

“ _Pardon me, Lady Reed_ , but you don’t know the North. My people are proud and fractured—if I had refused them, the only thing they agreed on with Winter at our gates—then I would have done an honorable thing that would have cost my people their lives.”

“So you don’t trust that Lady Sansa could lead in your stead?”

“No, that is not—”

She smirked sweetly, obviously greatly amused at my discomfiture. 

“Is that not what you are saying? That if you had given your crown to Lady Sansa that your people would have perished under her leadership?”

“Who do you think is leading them in my absence! Sansa is more than capable. She may not wield a sword but she mind is just as sharp and cuts just as deep. We would not have regained Winterfell without her. We will not win this war without her.”

“Then why not give her crown!”

“Because my people are just as pigheaded as they are proud! Because naming Ned Stark’s male bastard who lead them to battle, King, makes more sense to them than choosing Ned’s twice-married trueborn daughter whose words are her shield and her sword—they don’t know how to see strength in that kind of woman—they are Northmen, not Dornish, my lady.” 

At that unexpected praise Lady Reed relaxed and snorted good naturedly, “There is no need to lecture me on the nature of Northmen. I remember.”

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. If a beautiful Southern lady had visited Winterfell—even if it was thirty years ago—Northmen would not forget such an event quickly. _I would have heard the men talking about it. Even if it was only while in their cups_.

“Ash—I don’t think—”

“Why not Howland? He should know the full story of how he came to call Winterfell home.”

“You have been North?”

“Who do you think brought you to Winterfell?”

“Lord Sta—”

Howland interrupted me, “After Arthur died and Lyanna was found,” Howland paused, looking at Lady Reed, and averting his eyes, “We,” gesturing to the chest of bones and Jon, “traveled to Starfall to return Arthur’s sword, Dawn, to his family—Ash’s family—the Daynes. I thought Ash was at the capital—I didn’t think I would ever see her again after Harrenhal.”

Howland paused and a ghost of laugh passed through his lips, “But that didn’t stop you from slapping me when I presented Arthur’s sword to you,” He said looking at his wife, her eyes red and her mouth twisted in a grimace as they stared at each other, both transported to that day.

“And when I heard a baby cry, and you and Ned tried to tell me he was not Rhaegar's son, that he was a bastard.”

“Aye we were fools.”

“That is not the only thing you were a fool over.”

Howland cheeks grew red, and he looked away in shame, “Ash how could I have known?”

Lady Reed suddenly glanced at me, and the intimacy of the moment disappeared as Ashara shifted her body once again toward me, “I left the court because I had become pregnant with Howland’s child. While I danced with both Brandon and Ned at the Tourney, they were like so many other handsome men I met at court. But Howland was different,” she said her eyes shining again.

“I was never much of a Lord.” Howland joked a smile in his eyes.

“No, your curtiosies are rough and your clothes plain, but how you can spin a story.” She smiled. 

Howland squinted up at her, a curve on his lips, “What story did I tell?”

“You know very well which story you told,” Howland and Ashara laughed. 

“The lady and the toad,” Ashara breezily clarified to me as her and her husband continued to smile and chuckle. 

“Of course of I did.” Howland glanced at me, “Although in my defense I never thought the lady would kiss me much less—” his dancing eyebrows ended the sentence, his meaning clear as I felt my cheeks heat. 

“If you loved her you should have married her before—” I said to Howland belatedly realizing how petulant and out of turn I sounded. But Lady Reed’s laugh interrupted me before I could finish. _You know nothing Jon Snow ._

The corners of her mouth twitched as she said, “Aren’t you a sweet child. Yes, Howland, why didn’t you marry me then?” She clucked and turned away from me and sat down while Howland finished his explanation, “Ash, was—is—a woman with a will of her own. But she is also knew realities of her station—our stations. As I said, I was never much of a Lord—a poor vassal at the most. Hardly an acceptable match for a great lady of House Dayne. We knew we would never marry—”

“Then how—”

Ashara waved her hand impatiently in my direction, “At the time we thought we could never marry. We believed those three nights in my tent were all we would ever have. And when I missed my courses, I choose to leave court—my whole life—behind me for the chance to raise our child—the only reminder I would have of our love—in the peace of my father’s house.”

“Meera,” I said. 

“Yes. Meera,” she said with a nod. 

“I still don’t understand how—”

“When Lord Stark and Howland came to Starfall to return my brother’s sword and cloak, I ferreted out their secret very quickly.”

“That I was Rhaegar's trueborn son.”

“Yes. But Lord Stark was not keen to trust me, as I had been Elia’s dearest friend. Not to mention that my favorite brother had died by their hands. Nor did it help that the Dornish were on the wrong side of the rebellion. So he gave me an ultimatum: flee the realm or surrender as his prisoner. But Howland convinced Ned there was a third option.”

“Which was?”

“Disappear, and marry me in the Marshlands and live in relative peace and obscurity,” answered Howland. 

I suddenly remembered a story I overhead about a beautiful lady from Dorne throwing herself from the cliffs after her lover jilted her and left her pregnant. I took a deep breath as I remembered that night when I first overheard Lord Stark’s men in the hall talking about that ill-fated Dornish lady. I must have only had five name days. They talked about how she had danced with Ned and Brandon at the tourney and her violet blue eyes. They gossiped that she was probably my mother. And she threw herself off the cliffs of Dorne over a wolf breaking her heart.

I then remembered how I trembled in fear when Lord Stark clenched his jaw and ground his teeth when I asked why my mother jumped off a cliff and if that is why I am called a bastard, because I killed my mother.

 _Even now, that logic still stands. I still killed my mother—even if the woman in question had changed_.

But my fear left me when Lord Stark fell to his knees and crushed me to his chest. I barely remember what he said, but I remember him holding me for what seemed like ages and telling me, “She loved you—more than you could ever know. Oh she loved you my boy. She loved you as I loved you.”

 _What is duty to the love of a sister? Or a newborn babe in your arms?_ I finally knew Lord Stark’s true answer to Maester Aemon’s question. Lord Stark choose love over duty. He chose my safety over his wife’s honor. He chose me over his own honor. _He did truly love me like son_.

I looked at Lady Reed with fresh eyes. _This is the woman Lady Catelyn believed Lord Stark loved more than her. This was the woman I daydreamed was my mother when I was child._ Her beauty was striking but underwhelming at the same time—as the reality of a story often is. Renewed grief washed over me at the knowledge that I would never be relieved of the story that had become my mother. That I would forever have to rely on Ashara and Howland for the briefest sketch of her.

“You are the Dornish lady that threw herself off the cliffs after being jilted by a lover.”

Lady Reed’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Ah, you are not a dim-witted as you seem. There is hope for us yet.”

“Ash—don’t. None of this is his fault. And it only natural that he is overwhelmed by all of this.”

“You’re right. Apologies, _Your Grace._ ”

Howland grimaced at his wife’s less than sincere apology, but I merely shook my head, for I can hardly blame her for expressing the bitterness and anger she has felt for Rhaegar and Lord Stark for nigh on a quarter of a century. I was feeling beyond tetchy at them myself. 

“So you disappeared and married. But that still does not account for you travelling to Winterfell, my lady.”

“After returning Arthur’s sword, Lord Stark needed to rejoin Robert at King’s Landing to share the news of Lyanna’s death. Obviously he couldn’t bring a infant baby along—not when coming straight from Dorne. There would be too many questions. So Ned instructed Howland and I, along with a wet nurse, to sail from Starfall to the White Harbor, immediately.”

“And after _depositing_ me at Winterfell, you made your way to Moat Cailin?”

“Yes, Jon, we did,” replied Howland. 

“And no one cared? Or asked questions?”

“Benjen was the acting Warden when we arrived—and Lady Catelyn was still in Riverrun—and while I am sure Benjen has his suspicions, he was at the Harrenhal Tourney afterall, he didn’t question our story.”

“—And that is how I became the bastard of Winterfell.”

Howland looked met and held my gaze, his eyes weary, “I am sorry, Jon. I am sorry that you had to find out this way—from us. But now—now you know everything.”

“Aye, now I know everything.” A small bittersweet laugh escaped my lips. _I am not sure Ygritte would agree._.

Silence filled the room as everyone sensed they was nothing more could be said, but no one moved—in fear of disturbing the awkward peace. What more is there to say when a terrible truth has been told? 

Despite the unease I felt, as I looked at chest of bones on the table—Ned Stark’s bones—I discovered in the first time in the weeks since I left Winterfell, I no longer doubted that I was Lord Stark’s son. 

***********

“Howland said you wanted to speak with me your Grace,” opened Lady Reed as she walked into my tent the sounds of the men breaking down camp entering with her. I and one hundred men would be on the road to White Harbor in less than two hours, while the Royce lead the Vale Knights to the Twins. 

“Yes, my lady. Can I offer you some ale?” I gestured to the tin pitcher on the table.

Ashara glanced at the pitcher and her mouth puckered before she shook her head, “No, thank Your Grace.”

“That will be all Davos.” I said, to which Davos responded with wide eyes, before his face flushed in anger. With a burly, “As you wish, Your Grace,” he left the tent. 

Lady Reed stood there waiting for me to ease the tension left in Davos wake. _Well, then. Into the breach—_

“I am relieved that Meera is safe and sound at Winterfell.” I said pausing before I uttered that foul “but”. 

“—but I can’t have both Howland and you travel North. I need Howland to guard the Neck against a Southern invasion. So I have prepared a company of Knights to escort you to Winterfell to reunite you with your daughter.”

Lady Reed raised her eyebrows but nodded with slight smile, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“But—

“—but?” Ashara’s eyebrows frowned. I continued over her interruption. 

“—on the condition that you will swear to say nothing of what you know of my parents. To anyone. Not to your daughter. Not to—” I swallowed as my mouth ran dry, “—not to Lady Stark or any other Northern Lords or Ladies.”

Ashara’s brow burrowed deeper into her forehead and the air hung heavy before she bit out her reply, “You really are a bastard aren’t you? I thought you said you would never think to steal your kin’s seat. This same Lady Sansa you spoke so highly of.” 

I bracketed my knuckles in front of me and bowed my head and took a deep breath before I looked up at the woman who might as well be possessed by Lady Catelyn’s ghost. “I won’t. You have no need to worry about Lady Stark’s claim, Lady Ashara. If I am the Prince that is Promised, I will find my end in this war, we both know that is my destiny. You are right I am not meant to rule—that will be Sansa—She will be the Queen of Spring.

 _And I won’t even be there to see the beauty of it._. My stomach rolled hotly at the thought. I stood up and looked Lady Ashara in the eyes. 

“I am not asking you to stay silent for my personal gain, Lady Reed. I ask because my blood will mean nothing when I die, but if you tell the North—tell Sansa—now, while I live, you single handedly destroy the only coalition of men ready to fight the army of the dead. The North will not unite behind a Targaryen born from the ra—the abduction of Lyanna Stark. They will fracture and _we will all fall_.”

Lady Ashara nodded slowly but asked, “And if you should live?”

_Forgive me, Sansa._

I blew out a breath and lifted my hand gesturing to sky in plea to heavens, “I will disappear. You have have my word as a son of—” I stopped. My tongue stumbled over the words that used to be sure—true. But were true no longer—that were never true. 

Lady Ashara’s eyebrow quirked as she smiled sadly at my struggle to swear to an oath to a father that wasn’t my father. 

“—as a son of—”, she said parroting my words. I felt me cheeks heat at her goading, tying my tongue further. 

“—I swear on the blood of my mother—on Lyanna Stark, on the blood of Winterfell—that I if should live through this—I will leave Westeros forever.” I growled and huffed before continuing. “Now, swear to me Lady Ashara that you will not speak a word of my true father. Swear it!”

Lady Reed leveled her shoulders and tipped her chin up, her previous mirth gone from her face. She stood as I had seen Sansa stand, as I had seen Lady Catelyn stand— with a steel spine and flint in her eyes—the stance of a queen born from circumstance. “You have my word on my honor as a Dayne and wife of Lord Reed as well as on the soul of my daughter, I swear it, _Your Grace._.” she bit out. 

“Thank you, my Lady.” I nodded as a sigh left my body. “A company of men, supplies and wagons have been prepared for you my lady. You may bring any guards from your own household as well.”

“Thank you, your Grace.” Lady Reed nodded, “And I wish good fortune in the wars to come.” Then she curtseyed and with a turn of her heel left the tent the sound of men and horses at her heels. 

************

An hour later, I watched Davos bow over and then kiss Lady Reed’s hand. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled and he said something, and she tipped her head back as she laughed. She then caught my eyes, and I stared at her, waiting. For wait, I am not sure. She held my stare, the mirth gone from her lips but lingering in her violet eyes. She blinked and then nodded. A breath left my body that I didn’t know I was holding. I nodded back, hoping we finally have reached an understanding.

Royce and the majority of his men had already left camp, with my guard and Lady Reed’s being the only parties left. Davos strode toward me and our horses. 

“Ready Davos?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” said Davos with uncharacteristic bite in his voice. _I have dismissed one too many times._

Regret twisted my mouth. _It could not be helped._ I waited for him to mount his horse. We rode side by side for a quarter of an hour before Davos broke the silence.

“So, how exactly you think a highborn Dornish lady ended up married to a marshman?” Asked Davos with an with an overly airy tone.

“Your guess is a good a mine Davos,” I replied staring ahead of me. I kept my tone light in a effort to not betray that I knew more I wished to tell. 

Unperturbed by my non-answer, Davos continued breezily “Where would they have occasion to meet nigh on thirty years ago, do you think? Maybe a tourney perhaps?”

My horse snorted in protest when I reflexively pulled the reins at Davos spot-on speculation. _Damn you, Davos._ I hummed in and shrugged my shoulders, “Why didn’t you ask Lady Reed when you had the chance Davos?” I deflected.

Davos gives me a side glance and snorted in disbelief, “You know very well why. It would have been rude.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.” I said thinking of Lady Mormont.

Davos opened his mouth to refute me, but quickly closed it again, his cheeks uncharacteristically pink. _Ah. He likes her._

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you are sweet on her.” I said with a smile looking over at Davos for his reaction.

Red crept under Davos beard as he blushed. _Blushed! Like a green boy. So he likes her more than he should._ “Great ladies are easy to admire.” He blustered.

“Well, be sure Lord Reed doesn’t see your admiration.” I teased. 

Davos gave me angry look, “Admiration does not make me an oathbreaker, _Your Grace_. I am married.” he huffed.

I hummed in response nodding my head. “Good. I am glad my Hand’s memory is not impaired.”

Davos clenched his jaw, gave me an annoyed side glance and clicked his horse ahead of mine. 

_Well done, Jon_. I kicked my horse to follow him. 

“Davos, Davos,” I called as I spurred my horse to follow him. Once I was abreast of him once more I said, “It was a jape Davos. I didn’t mean it. I trust you with my life. Of course I trust you not to dishonor a vassel’s wife.”

Davos grunted but responded, “Yet you no longer trust me to keep your council? How did Lady Reed, come to be in the Marshlands your grace?” Davos held my gaze, his jaw still clenched but his face was now red from anger. 

“I don’t kn—”

“—That is bullshit. And we both know it. ”

I opened my mouth again to reply, but he cut me off. “—and if you can’t tell me, fine. But don’t lie to my face about it _Your Grace._ Don’t disrespect me by treating me like a fool.”

Now it was my turn to blush as the shame of omitting a small truth to hide a more terrible one flushed my cheeks. For the first time in years I felt like that green boy that had been switched for stealing from the kitchens. 

“You’re right, Davos, I apologize. I do know more about Lady Reed than I have let on.” I paused and briefly debated which truth could best be fashioned for a lie. “And I have kept you out of my council with the Reeds not because I don’t trust you, but to protect Lady Reed’s safety.”

“I didn’t know she was in danger?” said Davos concern washing the anger from his face. 

I looked around me to make sure we were far enough from any curious ears. The nearest soldiers were five horse lengths away. “Well, she is not in danger presently, but that could change if people knew who she actually was.” _And what knowledge she has as one of the last living players of King Aersy’s court._

“I was not aware a highborn _Dornish_ lady ranaway a quarter of a century ago.” Davos said puzzled, but I could tell he was intrigued, “But I do remember hearing tale of a Dornish lady throwing herself from a tower after being jilted by a lover”. _Maybe he will forgive me yet._

“That was Lady Ashara Dayne—the lady who threw herself off the tower. I remember fath—Lord Stark’s men talking about it growing up.” I took a breath, before continuing. “Lady Reed—Lady Reed is Ashara Dayne—the lady who was said to have thrown herself from the tower—she is the sister to the late Ser Arthur Dayne, known as the sword of the morning.”

“You are taking the piss?”

“I swear Davos—” I tried to reassure him but he cut off.

“Did they not find a body?” Asked Davos.

“Obviously not.”

Davos hummed at the information looking intently on the horizon for a long moment. “Then she wanted disappear. What was she trying to hide?”

“Her daughter—Meera. She—Lady Ashara, fell pregnant with Lord Reed’s child at the Harrenhal Tourney. And rather live in shame, she choose to run away with him. But she had to kill Lady Ashara to do it.”

Davos eyes grew round and then he turned looked at me incredulously. “Howland Reed,” he barked a laugh. “Now you must be taking the piss. Ha!” He scrubbed his beard. “You mean to have me believe that violet-eyed, raven haired beauty, Lady _Ashara_ , chose that short scrawny mouse-haired frog as her lord husband—damn the consequences? Ha! With the likes of Barristan Selmy in King Aery’s court, I call horsehit.”

 _Maybe that is why she choose Lord Reed, because he was different than all the others._ His plainess was his greatest virtue.

“We don’t choose who we love Davos. And it is true. You saw how she looked at her husband. There was grief for her children, but there was love for Howland. She chose him Davos.”

_Not that my fath—Ned Stark—had given her much of a choice._

Davos continues to chuckle, “Gods, what a life. Songs are poor substitutes for the truth of things.” Davos stroked his beard, chuckling once more and then looked over at me his eyes soft. “I understand why you kept your silence, Jon. And I don’t demand to know all your secrets, just let me know when you can’t tell me the truth—instead shunning me from your council. I can serve you if you if you hide things from me.”

“Aye. You are right. I will be more forthright in the future.” 

Davos smiled in relief and excused himself to speak to the head of our guard about where to make camp for the night.

_Liar._


End file.
